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Happiness from Thoughts 



AND OTHER 



SERMONS 



BY 



James Vila Blake 



NOV 19 1 

tutu 



CHICAGO 
Charles H. Kerr & Company, 



i f CONG* 6 ** 
rA »BlMOTOM; 



*> 



<\ % %* 



*Pty* 



Copyright by 

James Vila Blake 

1891 



LC 



Control number 



illl 



tmp9 6 



029024 



CONTENTS 



Page. 

Peace, 1 

Authority, 15 

The Earth's Friendliness, 33 

Forgiveness, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 

Freedom, Fellowship and Character in Religion, . . . . 93 

The Natural Man, Ill 

Burden Bearing, 121 

A Happy New Year, 149 

The Undertone of Life, 171 

Losses, 187 

Eeligion and the Bible, .-. 197 

Happiness from Thoughts, 253 

Perhaps, 269 

Appendix, . . 283 



(gratefully, Ctffectionatehj, 

tTfyis Book is inscribeb to 

JAMES M. WANZER, 

^or Croentu. years trustee of tfye Pulpit in rofyicfy tfyese 

Sermons tr>ere spoken. 

{}is is tfye noble Simplicity of ITTotbe rofyicr/ 

is tErutt), tfye tenber faithfulness of 

^eart rosier) is Strengtfy. 



PEACE. 



' : Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give vou 
rest." — Matthew xi. 28. 

These are gracious words. They fall like rain on the mown 
field, bringing again to life the roots of feeling and of conduct 
that the hot sun of care has parched. " Come," §ays Jesus, "with 
your laboring and heavy laden souls, and I will give you rest; 
for I will show you that religion is not to do this act or that, 
in this way or in another; but to live justly and mercifully, and 
with humble devoutness ; and this every man can do in his own 
soul. This only is my yoke, to be meek and lowly of heart; 
which is an easy yoke and a light burden because truly it is in 
accordance with the nature of the soul." Now this you see sets 
peace in the state of the mind and not in any outward doings 
or fortunes. Now peace is the blessing the world calls for. Do 
not you wish peace ? Has not Heaven always been thought of as 
a rest? Herbert says that "weariness shall toss us to the 
breast" of our Father. Who of you is not tired often? Who 
of you wages not a strife which sometimes is exhausting? To 
be at peace, to have a quiet mind, — this always has been a 
great need, and sought anxiously. 

I will ask you to take a near view of this rest to which 
Jesus calls the laboring and heavy laden, for if rest (as the 
world thinks) be something to be courted by greatness and 
power, lying softly on the pillow of the taskmaster but scout- 
ing the cabin of the slave, what is Jesus' invitation worth, who 
had not " where to lay his head ?" 

Now many have searched for peace by going away 
from the world into a corner of a wilderness, of a desert, 
or of some cold stone house, or into a cell, or a clois- 



2 PEACE. 

ter ; they have believed peace dwelt in silence and in 
solitude. Democritus, it is said, put out his eyes that the better 
he might retire to contemplation. This way to find peace has 
been the inspiration of some great religions; of Buddhism, for 
instance, even more than of Christianity; yet of Christianity 
much and often. Jerome exclaims: "What do you, Brother, in 
secular life, who art greater than the world? How long shall 
the shadows of roofs oppress you? How long shall the prison- 
house of smoky cities enclose you? Believe me, I know not how 
much more light I gaze upon. It is well, having cast off the 
burden of the body, to fly off to the pure effulgence of the sky." 
But I think not this was Jesus' religion, nor would he have 
thought that mere stillness and passiveness, even though with 
meditation, was the greatest and noblest peace, or mayhap even 
at all to. be called peace — as not hating is far from the same as 
loving. It is nobler, very much nobler, to live [with men, yes, 
to strive with them, and to wrestle with the earth, with great 
business, with legions of cares, and yet to have a peace not to 
be overthrown. Now I preach that this can be; nay, that it can 
be easily. I will not yield that it is a hard thing to have peace 
of mind; nay, I care not what be the struggles, the cares, the 
privations, the pains, still I yield not that peace is hard. Some- 
times I think that morality and religion are things so very great 
and strong, that even to have a little of them is to have tremend- 
ous power; and in this way I explain some great things done in 
the world while yet there is such evil too, and the great heights 
to which even the very faulty climb when need is. For either 
they have much greater virtue than appears to men's eyes, or 
else a little goes very far. Therefore I say, it is possible to live 
in what whirl soever of hard work, of cares, of strained strength, 
yea, even though unrequited, and still have an abounding peace ; 
of which it hath been said truly, that it passeth understanding; 
and also it passeth all delights. 

Yet let me not be thought to overlook the hard con- 
ditions of the world, or to v weigh them lightly, or not 
to know how hard they press, and sometimes with what 
keen edge they cut; yea, often with what cruel jaws tear 
the heart. Terrible toils, sad tumults, mournful miseries, hard 
times, throng everywhere, or trip like demons to a " dance of 



PEACE. 3 

death." Often when I walk the street, I busy myself in looking 
at faces inquiringly, and whenever so I do, I am struck, in the 
long avenues of moving ranks of people, with the few happy 
faces that I see, all having a prepossession of some care, toil, 
question, or pain to which they are going. Has it always been 
so? I know not how to think otherwise. 

Nature is not lavish at man's wish. He must extort from 
her. She bestows not. All that he gains he wrests by toil. 
The necessity on him to work knows no times or seasons nor is 
ever eased. There have been periods named after many objects of 
human pursuit — ages of art, of science, of religion, of philoso- 
phy, of war, conquest, empire; but there has never been an age 
marked above others as a working age, nor any time when man 
has not toiled in order to live. Yet this time of ours is marked 
by a feverish anxiety and haste of labor which is a very striking 
feature in it to historical observers. In a volume called 
" Human Sadness" one chapter is entitled " Weariness." The 
writer thinks that our age, unhappily, is distinguished by the 
excessive toil in the outward of which I have been speaking. 
Machinery and commerce, the telegraph, railroads, and republi- 
canism goad us to dreadful exertions and wear us out when we 
ought to be in the youth of fresh and hearty vigor. De Tocque- 
ville, in describing our age, speaks of "a senile consumption 
that one can define in no other way than as a diffic Ity in living" 

Toil is implanted even in our mere physical being. Count- 
less forces unite in active hostility to man. Nature seems pit- 
ted against him. Hosts watch their chance to destroy him. 
Such as serve him he has enslaved with hard struggles. A phy- 
sician said to me : "It is commonly averred that disease is the 
struggle of the body to throw off the deadly matter that obstructs 
and poisons it. If disease can be averted, it is said, we hve 
calmly, without effort. But the truth is contiariwise ; not 
disease, but life is the struggle. Disease is the victory of inimi- 
cal forces over life. We have to struggle for our first breath, 
drawing it not without pain; whereupon vitality begins at once a 
life-long struggle with destructive poisons floating free and act- 
ive in the atmosphere inhaled at every breath. The dew attacks 
us, and cold and damps, the heat of summer, imperceptible drafts, 
insidious miasma. Noxious substances mingle with our bread. 



4 PEACE. 

The very processes of life evolve products inimical to it. The 
struggle of the organic and inorganic kingdoms is long and ter- 
rible, but the latter surely gains the victory as old age comes on 
apace. At last it brings us to dissolution. Thus, in the body, 
struggle is life. Death has the prestige, life prevails hardly, and 
when we cease to struggle, we die." 

So in the province of the will, the word is, toil, for ever. All 
objects exact it, some more, some less, but the value of each is 
appraised by the toil it costs. Outward objects, wealth, orna- 
ment, reputation, require the least effort, though often even 
these elude the utmost industry. But they are the lowest objects 
of pursuit, sometimes the brood of accident. A man may pick 
up a fortune in a pearl on the sea shore. 

Next in value is intellectual power, a trained and patient 
mind, treasures of learning, rewards of science, achievements of 
art, vigor, thought. These, albeit there are differences of endow- 
ment, parley not with idleness ; they yield only to unremitting 
labor. 

Last, and most valuable, is great character, moral excellence. 
Here is toil indeed, resolution, watching. There are great 
wars to be waged with ourselves. Who are exempted by 
happy endowment? Morality levels everywhere. On the whole 
I think men are more nearly equal in moral quality than 
we see. Do you, of an inert and indolent disposition, 
envy my active temperament? It is as hard for me to 
curb my violence to quietness as for you to lift your apathy to 
enthusiasm. We have all our especial stubborn difficulties, and 
lurking snares of passion, prejudice, appetite, indolence, avarice. 
Character comes by slow conquest, with many moments of 
fainting, failure, bitter doubt. The moral nature, like the phy- 
sical, is placed here in an atmosphere which can support life 
only by being purged of its burden of matter hostile to vitality. 
And this must *be accomplished by the vitality of the moral 
nature itself. We must breathe in the evil for the sake of the 
good, and then wrestle till we dislodge the ill part. Shall we 
think to travel with careless, easy footsteps in his path who was 
perfected through suffering ? "Ye know not what ye ask. Are 
ye able to drink of the cup that I shall drink of and to be bap- 
tized with the baptism that I am baptized with ?" We have 



PEACE. 5 

each some stubborn, besetting sin, tempters without, snares 
within, passion, prejudice, injustice, appetite, avarice and all 
forms of selfishness. A pure and sterling character is no easy 
acquirement, but the slow gain of sore struggle. If we cease 
the struggle, it is the death of faith in good and in God. 

But the struggle for intellectual and moral gain has its 
cheering side. Though the strife be severe, the reward is price- 
less, " spiritual and eternal" Headlong toil would defeat 
itself if its object were of the mind; for the mind can 
grow only by quiet and peace. But how men toil for bread to 
eat and for common shelter! how they delve for station, for 
power, for pleasure, for plunder, patronage, revenge! 

The magnificence and wealth of a metropolis, hospitable 
harbors, prolific enterprises, immense machinery to support con- 
gregated life, are objects of pride to a nation. But I never visit 
a sadder place than our vast sea-board city of New York. Such 
is the toil that every face which is not worn or anxious, is 
thoughtless. The city is builded by the labor of hungry men 
and grew rich by the sweat of African slaves. There' is no sin- 
gle instant in which the vast swarm rests. Before light begins 
honest labor, treading on night crafts, honest ones, and shame- 
less. The crowded and suffering poor, always by a strange law 
most crowded and suffering most where wealth most abounds, 
seize a rainy day to send their little children into the cold, 
pitiless streets. Scattered in pairs or more at every corner, they 
stand all day in the rain with bare feet and thin, soaked gar- 
ments, striving, with a broken broom, to sweep the cross-walks 
clean from the running filth, for proud feet that are not bare, and 
begging a penny from each cross and hasty passer for the con- 
venience which has cost so much toil and cold, so many rebuffs. 
Their little hands scarce seem able to hold more than the filth 
in them, and their beseeching faces are so plastered with earth 
that it seems as if a cleansing flood of tears must be the fore- 
runner of a smile. And these children, if they survive, in most 
cases may expect no lighter toil nor better fare. 

Nor is his toil less who slaves in the scrutiny of invest- 
ments for accumulation; nor his less whose possessions hang 
every day on the capricious chances of a fictitious market ; 
nor, in all the wrong and wrangle, is his less who schemes 



b PEACE. 

and labors in humane causes. All is one tumult of perpetual 
struggle, from the scheming of avarice and the cares of honor- 
able office to the fight for bare subsistence. 

But Jesus calls not only to the laboring but the heavy laden. 
There are many who have heavy burdens. It may be that their 
burden is that they cannot labor. Illness, accident, overstrain 
in hard work when they could labor, have cast them aside. They 
must endure dependence, weakness. They bewail a seeming 
uselessness. Others are in painful positions; they are full of 
force and heart-leaping with purposes and with plans, but 
cramped, imprisoned, chained. Others work constantly but 
seem to reap naught from it. They are frustrated, swallowed up 
in losses. Others gain a little, yet very little, day by day, and 
always are pinched. Others toil faithfully and serve exceedingly, 
but win no requital, no love, no smiles and blessings, no infold- 
ings, no gratefulness. All these cry out for rest, peace. 

And yet with all this struggle, strife, toil, pain, I say we may 
have peace and rest. Whatever the strife, whether mean or great, 
sure it is" that we cannot know the earth we live in, its place in 
the firmament of stars or its peoples' place in the heaven of souls, 
till we have peace within. Again I say, nor can say it too earn- 
estly, nor too often, nor often enough till all have believed it, 
that this peace may be in us, fastened under all disturbance 
whatever, — the quietness on which the waves of the surface 
roll. For as the waves reach into the water but a little way 
down, and there is a depth which the hurricane cannot tear into, 
and as again the waves when they break in foam and spray are 
dissolved in the heights of the atmosphere, which still is as clear 
as it was before and is not troubled, so I think there is a depth 
under and over our troubles, our strifes, our pains; and that 
depth is the peace of God wherein we move and have being. 

The Scriptures say that this peace passeth understanding. 
This is because it is beyond all reach and harm, and we know 
not how to conceive that which nothing can lay hold of, which, 
like the sea depths and the heavens, is both under and over all 
storms but never torn by them. This peace is never apathy; 
nay, it is never deep and whole but with great feeling and a 
quick heart. It is a pure serene faith, a devout trust, and brave 
obedience; for these qualities have the peace of Providence, 



PEACE. 7 

because they join themselves with Providence. They will work 
very hard, mayhap, to make things thus or so, as the heart may 
wish them, or the desires point; but they will not cry aloud that 
this must be thus or so, or beat their breasts, groan and com- 
plain, if things be otherwise; but after we have labored accord- 
ing to our understanding, and to our foresight, as best we may 
judge, to make things so, then if they turn otherwise, these 
qualities, faith, trust, obedience, take the things as they are, and 
turn their labor to our own souls, that we may conform ourselves 
to the things; and when we have done this, it is peace; and this 
always we may do. 

Our home is in our own souls, in the sphere of spiritual 
life, which is not here or there, but everywhere. Here we exist for 
the time being, but we live in that which has no here nor there, 
nor any bonds of space. That we may not be satisfied to have 
our life and treasure here in these things which are but the 
present confined sphere of spiritual activity, that we may not 
remain at ease with material and lower values, we are made 
restless by vast desires. These at last become infinite thoughts 
and reach out. They roam the heavens like stars. "Human 
nature is one great want," says the moralist. This want is not 
in itself unrest. If the will be trained and the soul growing, 
this want is inspiration, a divine striving to greater being, a 
consciousness of strength beyond all present deeds, a sense of 
life and power in the soul. So it is when our wants are directed 
to their native objects, to spiritual things, to duty, greatness, 
beauty, experience of God. But if this imperious want, which 
our nature is, waste itself in the outward and the perishable, 
then it is terrible unrest; then we wander like exiles, exiled in 
sight of home. For of these outward things there will be 
always more to long for than to gain ; and what we have gained 
will perish in the using, or only hang round us like a chain, if we 
hoard it. Seeing that we must want, we shall have no rest 
unless we want what we were made to gain in increasing meas- 
ures, and then to keep forever. 

It is noticeable that great and holy men, however driven 
and pursued, oppressed, hurt, speak of an unvanquished peace 
which they have. Jesus told his disciples that when they 
were dragged before the Court, they should take no thought 



8 PEACE. 

what they should say, for it should be given them in 
that same hour what they should say. This was a com- 
mand out of a great peace of soul. It is related that Socrates 
did the like, taking no thought of his defense before the 
dikasts, because the voice that attended him bade him not 
do it; and it is plain that he had great peace of mind in 
the trial, and before it, and after it. Again Jesus said, " My 
peace I give unto you;" and according to the record he was 
then in the very jaws of the horrors that closed upon him. Yet 
his peace was the same, and worthy to be left to his friends, as 
something far in the heart and out of all reach ; for he said " Not 
as the world giveth, give I unto you." And again he said, 
"Behold the hour cometh, yea, is now come, that ye shall be 
scattered every man to his own, and shall leave me alone; and 
yet I am not alone, because the Father is with me." Little of 
outward things had Jesus to draw peace from. It is shown in 
the gospels that he recoiled painfully from the fate awaiting 
him ; yet, in the very shadow of it, he said " My peace I give 
unto you." 

I think this impregnable peace springs from two sources: 

First, from duty faithfully done. We cannot draw too large 
the restfulness that flows from a mind at peace with itself in the 
quiet of conscience. Eight and wrong are so. Who can be 
moved by shifting tumults if fixed on the immutable? This is 
true freedom, for it is obedience to God. Freedom always is 
peace. In a Jewish writer of the Middle Ages, it is narrated 
that Moses said to God, " Lord of the whole earth, thou hast 
laid two yokes on thy children, tue yoke of the law and the yoke 
of the kings." God answered, "Whoever attends to the law shall 
be free from the yoke of the kings." 

It is not required that we should do, but that only we should 
try to do. This was the light yoke of Jesus. Inward earnest- 
ness, truly a light yoke — that only we should try, which anyone 
can do. Yet this sincere effort in the soul is immovable peace. 

The rest which flows from a mind quiet and at peace with 
itself, a conscience satisfied with duty done, is the same in 
nature as the "Peace of God, which passeth understanding." 

It is a fixed star by which we sail; and as is the blessed 
sight of that star to the half -wrecked ship, scudding in the black 



PEACE. 9 

night, the compass lost, so to the soul torn with temptations, 
is the guidance of the pole-star of duty. " of whose true fixed 
and resting quality there is no fellow in the firmament." 

Duty is like a high hill. When we have gone up it, we are 
in a perfect and pure air, where all is life and quiet. The ills, 
turmoil, noise and terrors of earth are below us. A martyr of 
the early church said loftily to the Pagan persecutors, " Do you 
reckon, then, that to us and to you evils are equally evil? Do 
you not know from your own observation that you and we bear 
not afflictions in the same way? * * * Among us, hope 
then flourishes in its full vigor, and faith loses nothing of its 
confidence! Our mind stands erect and our virtue is unshaken, 
amid the ruins of a falling world! " 

Is not power peace? Is not the sense of strength great 
rest? Is not he quiet in mind and spirit, serene, unmoved, 
unhurried, full of dignity, who knows that he hath abundant 
strength for the next task? This is rest that comes of duty, 
namely, that again there is strength for requirement; for well 
said it is that " the reward of one duty is the power to fulfill 
another." 

Is not knowledge rest? Behold with what quiet constancy 
the knowing stand. See how peacefully a man fronts anything 
he understands. Observe the poise of a man with what is 
reasonable. Consider the confidence of a man with what he 
masters and knows. Eemark how free of fear he is, how 
manly, sufficient, erect, strong. But what teaches like Duty? 
What lies under knowledge but Duty? What gives insight, 
builds wisdom, shows the way, reveals wonders, reasons justly, 
beholds things as they are and in their true order, like Duty. 
"Every duty we omit," says Kuskin, " obscures some truth we 
should have known." Simple dutifulness gives us the rest, the 
security, of stored knowledge. 

Surely it is a source of rest, of impregnable rest, that we 
have a leader. Let us be as bold as we will, as free as we wish, 
still it is rest and peace to meet a wiser person than ourselves 
and feel a power sustaining us, our perplexities begirt with 
assurance, our foggy path sunlighted. Such rest comes of Duty. 
For we follow Duty, not lead. Duties choose us, not we them. 
They come to us, commissioned. "Can man or woman choose 



10 PEACE. 

duties?" says George Eliot; i( No more than they can choose 
their birth-place, or their father and mother." 'Tis a great rest 
that this gives us — the rest of reliance and the peace of a mighty 
loyalty which follows, obeys and loves. 

Is it not rest to be free from cares and terrors and ambi- 
tions about the issues of things? If one build a great house, is 
he not at rest if the building of it so rejoice and fill him that he 
heeds not what may be said of it and reckons up no other suc- 
cess in his thoughts? If a writer compose a work, if a poet 
sing, an artist design or paint or model or make music, and he 
never runs after great payment for it nor courts admiration nor 
hurries attention nor is concerned about the fate of it, is not 
this rest, peace? Is not the quiet of such a mind in its work 
like healthful sleep after labor? Such rest comes of Duty; for 
Duty is all and whole in this moment, as Divinity is, and looks 
not beyond. This is contentment, peace, immovableness. I 
care not how severe the strain and the labor, whoso takes it in 
this pure way and childlike spirit finds rest in duty. Fenelon 
indicates that if we be content with doing calmly what depends 
on us and is in our path, though it be little, " we shall have the 
mind to let all else be to us as if it were naught." " If," says 
Confucius, " doing what ought to be done be made the first 
business, and success a secondary matter, — is not this the way 
to exalt virtue?" Yes, and the way to be taken with virtue into 
a high space which is above the quakes of the earth. 

How much restlessness, anxiety and painful beating against 
the bars, does faithfulness escape, having a mind free from 
" disorders of passion," from anguish of remorse, from sins of 
darkness, confusion, vexation, that " dishonor our nature, 
deform our soul, ruffle our mind, and rack our conscience!" 
Instead of these, the soul puts on, like a wedding garment, the 
inexpressible peace of a still and quiet conscience. " Thus saith 
the Lord, Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old 
paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find 
rest for your souls." 

The second source of peace is the thought of eternal Being 
who is Life and Love. 

" Often," says Tauler, " when I meditate on the Kingdom 
of God, I cannot speak for the greatness thereof. For the 



PEACE. 1 1 

Kingdom of God, what is it but God himself with all his riches? 
* * * If we think of all the worlds that God could create, 
that is not the Kingdom of God. * * * He who knows 
and perceives how nigh God's Kingdom is, may say with Jacob, 
' Surely the Lord is in this place, and I knew it not.' " 

I hear the rain falling — very musical, like scattered notes 
coming uncertain to the ear from far-off harmonies. What if we 
could get near to the harmonies, bend our ear to them, and listen 
to the full chords supporting this watery melody of peace, to the 
fundamental tone that determines the " leading of the voices," 
as the harmonists say, — how should we then answer the old 
Hebrew's question, "Hath the Bain a Father?" But the ques- 
tion is far-reaching. Down comes the rain with all its murmur 
and music, each drop a sphere of beaming life, of upper cloud- 
land heat and electric fire. It vanishes in the earth. What 
becomes of the light, the heat, the fire? By admirable trans- 
mutations they clothe themselves in trim garbs aiming at motion, 
and now the plant ascends and the leaves rustle their reminis- 
cence of the rain's murmur. Hath the tree a Father? And 
when the fruit, being perfected, empties its juices into a red 
circulation, as the fruit doth when we eat it, and weaves its tis- 
sue into a stringed instrument, as it doth in the human throat, 
which then pours " noble words " over the " perfect music " of 
wonderful vocal chords, — Hath the man a Father? Yet I know 
not that the last transmutation is more wonderful or God-like 
than the rain's falling murmur or than its refreshment of a 
thirsty root. But it is not well to interpret or explain man by 
nature, but rather nature by man. For somewhere, deep down, 
there must be that meaning to all things which our own being 
hath, since all are of one Source, — a spiritual meaning, freedom, 
moral consciousness, personality, love, joy, and their continuity. 
When nature so shall be questioned, with a broader knowledge 
and wider principles than now we possess, but on the threshold 
of which I think we stand, we shall see every feature full of life; 
and like to us. Then nature, which is our perception of God, 
and Art, which is our work with ourselves, are seen, as Hugo 
says, to be " two slopes of one fact." 

How shall I speak, what words shall I find that I dare 
speak, what that can carry to you the thought of the height and 



12 PEACE. 

the depth and the strength of the peace of looking quietly to 
God? Faith in God and constant sense of his presence, was 
the great rest of Jesus. He expressed it in language, which, in 
the lack of an understanding faith akin to his own, has been 
made the material of unintelligible and impossible doctrine. 
" 1 and my Father are one," " No man cometh unto the Father 
but by me," " If ye had known me, ye should have known my 
Father also," " Believest thou not that I am in the Father and 
the Father in me?" " That the Father may be glorified in the 
Son," " The Father, that dwelleth in me, He doeth the works," 
" All things that the Father hath are mine," "He that hateth 
me hateth my Father also," " I came forth from the Father and 
am come into the world ; again I leave the world, and go to the 
Father." He liked to think of himself as the child of God, and 
expressed in simple language his confidence that the Father loved 
him. All the good and the great have spoken of this faith as 
being their staff in long and hard travel, their shield in strife, their 
one Scripture in all doubts, their light in darkness. In all sor- 
rows or straits hath it not comforted them? It hath led them 
to a cross as to a throne, and into dens of wild beasts as into 
a place of song and music, and into flames as into soft 
airs, breeding wings. Yes, and since all persons have a great- 
ness, and all are alike to the heart of God, I can say also, In 
what private and hidden needs, what conflicts in corners, what 
obscure wrestling with sorrow among the lowly, the forlorn, hath 
not this looking to God brought light and strength? In one of 
two states we must be; either pushed and beset, sometimes 
sorely, or else in easy and pleasant conditions. Now, if beset, 
then a sudden upturning of thought but for an instant, while on 
we go with our labors, or with our endurance, — but one little ' 
look up without words, too quick, too perfect for words, makes 
peace within us. And if we be at ease and pleasantly off, then 
we may have the joy of calm reflection, sometimes after con- 
flicts, — for all pass through fires at one time or another — the joy, 
I say, of calm reflection that God is, and that we ought not to 
take blessings indolently, and that if storms come again, still 
God will be as he hath been. Then, 

"We steadier step when we recall 
That if we slip, he doth not fall ;" 



PEACE. 13 

and this is peace. 

But here let silence enter. I know not how to speak of these 
things. Yet we must strive to speak, for it is more true to speak 
than to be silent. "It is the glory of God," says Channing, 
f that he answers to the love of Infinity in the soul." 

If a hunted fugitive fled into a church in old times, it was 
held a sacred refuge whence he could not be taken out. So a 
laboring and heavy : laden man may come to his own soul and go 
in, and find a Presence, being in a temple, " the secret place of 
the Most High," where " he shall abide under the shadow of the 
Almighty." 

Is this not true? Is it not real? 



AUTHOEITY. 



"Why, even of yourselves, judge ye not what is right." — Luke xn, 57. 

My subject this morning, namely, authority in religion, con- 
nects itself with some questions that often have been asked me, 
and very lately have been asked me again, concerning the rela- 
tion of the Bible to our rational thought in religion. I am 
happy to take this topic because I wish, as much as possibly I 
can, to make the pulpit answer the current needs of those who 
are thinking in the direction of the pulpit's subjects; and surely 
no subject is more natural in the pulpit than the foundation of 
religion. 

The authority of the Bible is the source whence are drawn 
the weapons in all the petty quarrels of the sects. I stand as 
much outside of them all, even of some of them that unhappily 
infect with their littleness our own Unitarian household, as rf 
they existed not, because I cannot breathe in such an atmos- 
phere. But I recognize the necessity of taking into account the 
source of all religion and asking what it is, and I see that the 
rightfulness of authority, as a principle, and the true nature 
and extent of authority, lie at the bottom of all these issues, 
and, too, of the issue between Bomanist and Protestant. There- 
fore, I need no excuse, I think, for taking the subject this morn- 
ing, even though I treat it a little technically. 

Let us first gain a perfectly clear idea of the real question at 
issue. What is the true matter in dispute ? What are the two 
standards or opposing views which are set forth and main- 
tained ? 



16 AUTHOKITY. 

The question is this : In religious or theological thought, 
are our natural faculties, by which I mean the rounded mind of 
each man, sufficient for our guidance, and all we have? Or need 
we also another source of knowledge, generally called a revela- 
tion, and have we such a source ? On this question it seems to 
me clear that the two sides are exactly at issue. Furthermore, 
there is no room for a logical middle ground. Either our 
natural mental operations are enough to guide us in moral and 
religious truth, or not enough. Either we have a superior 
source of instruction to which we must bow, or we have no such 
source. There is no ground between. Accordingly,one side answers 
" No, our minds are not sufficient to themselves. They fall into 
error, or else they tell us not all the truth we need. We have 
an authority which rectifies the error and reveals the truth. 
The Bible is our authority, which subordinates our faculties be- 
cause it is a revelation from the Most High." The other side 
answers, " Our minds, it is true, are finite, limited, but still 
they are sufficient to themselves. They lead us into error (or, 
rather, I like better to say, they wander into error, since our 
minds are ourselves) but, also, they find their way to truth. We 
win the victory, rectify our own mistakes and increase our sum 
of truth. This is all that is needful. The universe lives on 
patience. God is not in haste. Man is saved and unfolded by 
effort rather than by results. In the processes of growth our 
minds not only are sufficient but supreme. No authority can 
overpower us. , No revelation can override reason. There is, 
and there can be, no authority over the mind, since the mind is 
only another name for our power to apprehend and comprehend 
the truth." 

Now, the perfectly clear issue which these two answers make 
has been needlessly confused by vague notions of the meaning 
of authority. It is asked, How is it possible to reject all 
authority? Can each man know everything for himself ? Must 
we not take many things about which we know little on the 
authority of those who know more of them ? Do we not guide 
our lives every day by chemical, mechanical, astronomical, med- 
ical facts, which we take altogether on the authority of the mas- 
ters in those branches ? This question always is asked trium- 
phantly, as if it settled the matter and established authority for- 



AUTHOBITY. 17 

ever. I simply answer to it, No, indeed. We accept not any 
of our knowledge, or of the principles on which we order our 
daily lives, on the mere authority or dictum of any man or men. 
Our acceptation and belief is just as much an act of judgment 
as if we had examined the matter thoroughly for ourselves; 
only instead of weighing the evidence we weigh the mind and 
character of those who have weighed the evidence. I cannot do 
better than quote on this point the language of Archbishop 
Whately, who certainly would not have missed so important an 
argument for authority in religion as the one in question, if it 
had been sound. 

" It is manifest," he says,* " that the concurrent testimony of 
several witnesses, where there can have been no concert, and 
especially where there is any rivalry or hostility between them, 
carries with it a weight independent of that which may belong 
to each of them considered separately. For though, in such a 
case each of the witnesses should be even considered as wholly 
undeserving of credit, still the chances might be incalculable 
against their all agreeing in the same falsehood. It is from this 
kind of testimony that the generality of mankind believe in the 
motions of the earth and of the heavenly bodies, etc. Their 
belief is not the result of their own observation and calculations, 
nor yet again of their implicit reliance on the skill and good 
faith of any one or more astronomers; but it rests on the agree- 
ment of many independent and rival astronomers, who want 
neither the ability nor the will to detect and expose each other's 
errors. It is on similar grounds that all men believe in the ex- 
istence and in the genuineness of ancient books, such as the 
Scriptures. It is not that they have themselves examined these, 
nor again, as some represent, that they rely implicitly on the 
good faith of those who profess to have done so; but they rely on 
the concurrent and uncontradicted testimony of all who have 
made or who might make the examination, both unbelievers and 
believers of various hostile sects, any one of whom would be 
sure to seize any opportunity to expose the forgeries or errors of 
his opponents." 

Now, this is exceedingly plain and unanswerable. It is mani- 
fest that we take not our common knowledge implicitly on 
authority. Our belief is the result of a simple and common 

*Wb.ately's Kaitoric ; quoted with some omissions for brevity. . 



18 AUTHORITY. 

sense act of judgment, so simple as even to escape observation 
unless we carefully note our mental processes. But very far dif- 
ferent from this is the authority which is asserted in religion. 
That is not merely the effect of circumstances. It springs from 
our nature. It is not merely the resort and aid of a voluntary 
ignorance, but professes to make up for inevitable incapacity of 
nature. It addresses not itself to reason ; it supplies the place 
of reason and puts the mind under its feet. It can not be 
escaped by thought or study. No man can prepare himself by 
any effort, to judge for himself on the subjects of which it treats. 
It rules alike over the ignorant and the learned, and the func- 
tion of the mind is only to repeat its discourse. De Maistre, 
the great disciple of absolutism, confesses the foundation of auth- 
ority in religion when he says, " Man in general, if left to him- 
self, is too wicked to be free." Religious authority means- the 
absolute rule of a revelation, held to be supernatural, over the 
incapable human mind. I take from Farrar's Bampton lectures 
of 1862, at Oxford, the following plain, just and resolute expres- 
sion of the meaning of Christian authority : " Christianity," he 
says, "asserts authority over religions belief in virtue of being a 
supernatural communication from God, and claims the right to 
control human thought in virtue of possessing sacred books, 
which are at once the record and the instrument of this commu- 
nication, written by men endowed with supernatural inspiration. 
The inspiration of the writers is transferred to the books, the 
matter of which, so far as it forms the subject of the revelation, 
is received as true because divine, not merely regarded as divine 
because perceived to be true." 

I repeat that this is a perfectly clear issue, and no one does 
service to the truth who beclouds and confuses this issue by fool- 
ish association of it with the views and doctrines of scientific 
authority. 

Now I need not say to you that I accept no such authority. 
I admit no rule of any kind over my reason. I consider no 
claim so sacred as that of each man's reason on his moral alle- 
giance. No duty is so plain and imperative as the duty of using 
one's own mind and being true to it. 

Let me give a good illustration. In the time of Luther sev- 
eral of his contemporaries engaged in turbulent conduct, and de- 



AUTHOEtTY. 19 

fended it from the Old Testament. This called forth from the 
great reformer a treatise entitled " Instruction on the manner 
in which Moses is to be read." "Moses," says Luther in that 
treatise, " was a mediator and law giver to the Jews alone, to 
whom he gave the law. If I take Moses in one commandment 
I must take the whole of Moses. Moses is dead. His dispen- 
sation is at an end. He has no longer any relation to us. 
When any one brings forward Moses and his precepts and 
would oblige you to observe them, answer him thus : Go to 
the Jews with your Moses. I am no Jew. * * * 

If now the disorganizes say, Moses has commanded it, do you 
let Moses go and say, I ask not what Moses has commanded." 
Bold language about Moses in that day and generation, but very 
honest, clear and sound. In like manner, when any one cites 
against my reason, some sayings or deeds of Jesus, whom they 
call Christ, as for example that he believed in possession by de- 
mons, in the existence of the devil, in everlasting punishment, 
or that his recorded words teach such things in the sacred texts, 
what shall I say ? If I speak like Luther I shall say, " Go, 
friend, take this written word of Christ to the dogmatic Chris- 
tians. He is their authority. He is not my authority. I have 
no authority. I believe not in special Christian revelation, but 
I believe in the universal revelation. Therefore I will not hedge 
myself in with any society or anv name, either Christian or any 
other." 

But, you ask me, does not Christ teach the truth, and do you 
not receive one who teaches the truth ? And so Luther imag- 
ined his opponents replying to him, " Moses has commanded 
that we should believe in God, that we should not take his name 
in vain, that we should honor our father and mother, etc. 
Must we not keep these commandments ? Answer them thus," 
continues Luther, " Nature has given these commandments, 
nature teaches man to call on God, and hence it is natural to 
honor God, not to steal, not to bear false witness, etc. Thus I 
keep the commandments which Moses has given, not because he 
enjoined them but because nature implanted them in me." In 
these courageous words from the sixteenth century I should answer 
my Christian brother. I keep the commandments which Jesus 
has given not because he has enjoined them but because nature 



20 AUTHOBITY. 

implanted them in me. Jesus authorizes not the truth but the 
truth authorizes Jesus and glorifies him until he shines unto my 
eyes in my reverence, because of his faithfulness to his own 
soul. 

I know well the charge of self-sufficiency and pride which are 
brought against such a position. But is there no self-sufficiency 
and pride when ignorance first calls itself " Faith" and then 
despises the researches of learning and criticism? A familiar 
passage in Frances Newman's " Phases of Faith " will illustrate 
the pride of authority and prejudice. He says, " While we 
were at Aleppo, I one day got into religious discourse with a 
Mohammedan carpenter, which left on me a lasting impression. 
Among other matters, I was peculiarly desirous of disabusing 
him of the current notion of his people, that our Gospels are 
spurious narratives of late date. I found great difficulty of 
expression; but the man listened to me with much attention, 
and I was encouraged to exert myself. He waited patiently till 
I had done, and then spoke to the following effect: — ' I will tell 
you, Sir, how the case stands. God has given to you English a 
great many good gifts. You make fine ships and sharp pen- 
knives, and good cloth and cottons, and you have rich nobles 
and brave soldiers; and you write and print many learned 
books (dictionaries and grammars) ; all this is of God. But 
there is one thing that God has withheld from you, and has 
revealed to us; and that is, the knowledge of the true religion, 
by which one may be saved.' When he thus ignored my argu- 
ment (which was probably quite unintelligible to him), and 
delivered his simple protest, I was silenced, and at the same 
time amused. But the more I thought it over, the more 
instruction I saw in the case. His position towards me was 
exactly that of a humble Christian towards an unbelieving 
philosopher; nay, that of the early Apostles or Jewish prophets 
towards the proud, cultivated, wordly-wise, and powerful heathen. 
This not only showed the vanity of any argument to him, except 
one purely addressed to his moral and spiritual faculties; but 
it also indicated to me that ignorance has its spiritual self- 
sufficiency as well as erudition; and that if there is a Pride of 
Reason, so is there a Pride of Unreason." 

Now let me look at some logical aspects of authority. 



ATJTHOKITY. 21 

By consideration of the nature of our mental processes, . I 
think we shall see that authority is a simple and logical impossi- 
bility. Our faculties, which mean simply the operation of our 
minds, must be either sufficient or insufficient for our mental 
and moral development. If sufficient, there is an end of the 
matter, because then no authority is needful. Moreover, if our 
faculties be sufficient, they must be competent to decide for 
themselves ) whereupon authority is an impossibility. For it is 
contradiction to affirm that faculties are at once both sufficient 
and obliged to hang on authorily. If our faculties be insuffi- 
cient, it is because they are either false or limited. If false, 
then we are landed in complete uncertainty concerning all 
things, and the rightfulness, worth and substance of authority 
are as uncertain as other things. If the mind be false, how 
can we be sure that it is truthful in this very idea, that it is 
false, and why true in this if false in other things? What 
security can there be that false faculties understand the authority, 
and follow it well, or follow a true and correct authority? In 
this case, then, authority is impossible, because all knowledge 
and all means of knowledge are impossible. False faculties 
will be as unable to interpret a revelation, as to find the truth 
for themselves. Nay, no reason can be imagined why they even 
should know it to be a revelation, for then they would be so far 
truthful and not false. 

If, on the other hand, our faculties be true and trustworthy, 
so far as they go, but very limited, then it is not certain that 
they are insufficient for our proper development, even though 
they cannot lead us to all truth, because our needs may be 
limited in the same proportion. It is hard to resist the con- 
clusion that our minds give us all we need to know. For every- 
where in nature we find powers and needs well balanced. But 
that our minds give us all we need to know appears the more 
plain from this, that they give us all we can know. For how 
can we acquire what we have no means of allying with ourselves? 
To say that we have a faculty of any kind, is only to say that 
we are able to comprehend a certain kind of knowledge; and to 
say that we can know anything for which we have no faculty, 
is to say that we can know what we cannot know. Hence it 
happens that no authority anywhere ever has conferred on man- 



22 AUTHORITY. 

kind a truth about the soul, its religious natures or powers, 
which has not dawned elsewhere, before the authority, or 
without it. The only value and office of authority in these great 
truths of religion is confirmatory. There is never anything 
original in the dictates of a religious authority, except the 
nature and claims of that authority itself. Christianity, for 
example, has its theology, its ethics, its anthropology, and also 
its Christism; but only its Christism, that is, its system of 
claims and doctrine concerning the authority of Christ, is 
original. The rest it shares with all mankind. There is no 
religion that does not team with the same thoughts, no corner 
of the earth but is glorified with them. And in its formal or 
historical originality, as well as in its contents affirmatory of 
great common truths, Christianity is limited and ruled by our 
powers of reason and perception. It cannot transcend our 
faculties, and remain intelligible. If authority overstep once 
the bounds of our perception or comparison, it becomes instantly 
unintelligible, because then it treats of an order of things of 
which we have no conception; as a man born blind cannot 
receive a notion of color from any declarations, howsoever he 
may take them implicitly. And if authority go contrary to 
reason, then again it is unintelligible, because it trangresses the 
limits which to our minds bounds the possible. On either score, 
therefore, authority is simply impossible, as a means of truth in 
religion. 

Again, authority is either entire, and requires us to accept 
without question the whole contents of the revelation or record, 
or else it is partial and requires assent only to parts of the con- 
tents of the record. If the record be only partially authoritative, 
as many persons declare the Bible to be, then we are left to 
determine the authoritative parts from the other contents. But 
to examine the contents and judge of authority from the matter, 
is to rest the authority on the merits of its teaching ; that is, on 
reason. But this does away with authority altogether. If the 
record be absolutely and entirely authoritative, then we are 
thrown back on our own powers at last, by the necessity of 
interpretation. We have an entire and perfect rest and quiet 
shelter, as soon as we find the meaning of the true authority; 
but we seem to be left to ourselves to get at the meaning. We 



AUTHORITY. 28 

need not trouble ourselves about the truth of the substance ; but 
how find out ivhat the substance is? For this momentous task we 
have only our own powers, unassisted, after all. What kind of 
agreement men have found in interpreting the Bible, the history 
of the Church and of the different sects discloses. The Bible is 
plain enough, it is often said ; anybody may know it ; he who 
runs may read it. Nothing can exceed the ignorance or blind- 
ness of such an assertion. "The Bible plain! Why, the awful 
doctrines of the Holy Trinity, the Divinity of Christ, and the 
atonement, have all been vehemently denied on the authority of 
the Bible! Eoman Catholics confidently quote the Bible, from 
Genesis to Kevelation, against Protestant doctrines. Cardinal 
Bellarmine quoted more than fifty texts in proof of purgatory, 
and others quote more than a hundred in defence of their confi- 
dence in the blessed Virgin. Is anything more plain to the 
Papist than the declaration to Peter, Upon this rock I will 
build my church'? Is anything less ambiguous to him than the 
words, ' This is my body' ? " 

From a valuable Beview* I take another illustration, fur- 
nished by a debate between a Methodist and a Universalist on 
the dogma of everlasting perdition. By the Universalist clergy- 
man " every prominent text in the Bible that proved his doctrine 
was brought forward and used to the best possible advantage, 
while the arguments of his opponent were criticized and venti- 
lated in a most able and ingenious manner, forcing doubt 
upon the minds of hundreds who thought they had not doubted 
before. On • the other hand, the Methodist clergyman fortified 
his position by such an array of Scriptural testimony as made 
the very temple of Universalism tremble visibly in the con- 
sciousness of those who based their hopes of its truth in the 
testimony of sacred writers, and they were fain to flee for refuge 
to the firm pillars of reason. Nothing was more obvious to the 
thinking unprejudiced mind than that the antagonistic dogmas 
of universal salvation and eternal damnation can both be sus- 
tained by the Bible, and with about equal weight of testimony." 

Truly when we view these facts, it seems not that our boasted 
authority avails much in securing us against our erring minds 

*The Radical, Sept., 1867, p. 35. 



24 AUTHOBITY. 

after all. And when we remember the difficulties that time and 
the changes of language constantly are adding to interpretation, 
it is very plain that the duty of unfolding the meaning leaves us 
as much at the mercy of our own powers, as if we were obliged 
to think out the subject for ourselves; and with this immense 
disadvantage, that we use not the mind freely, and that it is 
directed on trivial and perplexing details instead of coping man- 
fully and spiritually with the important matter itself. 

There is but one way open to authority to elude this difficulty 
and fulfill its boast of guarding the human mind from error. 
That way is suggested in a sentence of De Maistre. " All the 
centuries," he says, " have cited the Bible it is true, for any 
thing can be found in any book which any man has a right to 
interpret for himself." This is the inevitable result. The infal- 
lible book must have an infallible interpreter. The written 
authority must have a living authority to expound it. The 
authoratative oracle of the past must have an authoratative inter- 
preter in the present. There must be an actual, moving, living 
authority, to whom the difficulties of the written one can be re- 
ferred as they occur. And this is Roman Catholicism. It adds 
to the past authority of the Bible the living authority, equally 
infallible, of the interpreting church. 

To the logical excellence of this position no one, I think, can 
fail to do honor. And who that observes the signs of the times 
can be blind to the strength and fervor which simple, logical 
consistency gives to the Romanist. The world is dividing itself, 
I think, between Rationalism and Romanism. Said that re- 
markable observer, De Tocqueville, confidently, " America will, 
sooner or later, lie prostrate, the easy captive of Rome, because 
regulars always beat the militia." I think not so; but if not so, 
it is not Protestant sectaries that will save us, but men who, 
founding on their own spiritual natures, take their stand with 
simple, rational, natural religion. 

Now I cordially respect the consistent Romanist, and I as 
much — I like not to use a contemptuous word — disapprove of 
the dallying, staggering Christian sects which drag themselves 
awkwardly on unequal crutches and think to unite liberty and 
authority. I think I maintain a logical position because I re- 
nounce all external bondage and trust only to my own reason 



AUTHORITY. 25 

and spiritual nature. The Komanist, too, is reasonable, because 
he seeks to renounce all liberty. That great church tries no im- 
possible unions. Authority is perfect, living, final, triumphant. 
Freedom is utterly discredited and abhorred. Eome stands still 
strong and powerful, not less in its consistency than in its 
mighty organization. It is the crowning wonder of the centuries. 
Its past is magnificent and its present true to its past. It has 
made many empires and outlived many more. Its ample clois- 
ters stand silent and full of rest, and over them brood guardian 
spirits of saint and martyr. Its walls are old and grey and vine- 
grown. Its moss-covered eaves distill musical drops of reverend 
antiquity. It is here with us, shorn somewhat but scarcely im- 
paired, or, perhaps, like Antaeus, the stronger for the falls which 
have taught it to understand better the civilization of the hour. 
Like the mighty oak, that shakes from its summer leaves the 
same drops which moistened it a hundred years ago, that 
church stands green and hale. It bids fair to flourish when all 
the little, carping Protestant sects that now attack it, that shrink 
from bondage but dare not be free, that try to tie authority with 
reason and lose both, sink into forgotten graves. 

But if the Papist and the simple thinker who disowns all au- 
thority are the two logical extremes, there must be some defect in 
the Roman position, which makes it the untrue extreme. That 
defect, I think, is this, that the Romanist finally escapes 
not dependence on reason any better than the Protestant. The 
church gains perfect quiet, it is true, in its own bosom, because 
it is a living authority which can define itself, and silence when 
it cannot convince. But the Papist does not escape trusting his 
own powers; for if he believe in the Bible according to the com- 
mand of the church, he must have some reason for believing in 
the church and in its right to command. He will not admit the 
discussion of a dogma, because church authority has settled it; 
but he will admit the discussion of church authority, or, if not this, 
at least he will admit the discussion of discussion of church author- 
ity. Somewhere we must anive at a common ground where we each 
repose on reason, because no man is willing to believe any thing 
which he thinks it unreasonable to believe. Thus the church of 
Rome really gets rid of reason not at all. It puts reason practi- 
cally out of sight, but it can not logically destroy reason. The 



26 AUTHORITY. 

Papist still depends at last on his own powers, and he cannot 
substitute authority for reasoning because of the very nature of 
reason. 

If any one admit the argument thus far, it will appear plain 
that in last analysis religious authority is an impossible pre- 
tence. 

I turn now, though it must be briefly, even hurriedly, to some 
practical aspects of authority in religion. 

Authority, though logically such a shallow pretence, is 
practically of much influence among men. The reason is that 
men think little, and are content to follow some one without 
question. I was once reprimanded by a good woman for read- 
ing the Greek Testament. Her father and grandfather, she 
said, read the English Testament, which was good enough for 
anybody. This abeyance of individual thought is ingeniously 
used by Locke to prove that there is not so much error in the 
world after all: " Not," he says, "that I think men embrace 
the truth; but indeed, because concerning those doctrines they 
keep such a stir about, they have no thought, no opinion at all. 
* * * They are resolved to stick to a party, that education 
or interest has engaged them in; and there, like the common 
soldiers of an army, show their courage and warmth, as their 
leaders direct, without even examining, or so much as knowing, 
the cause they contend for. * * * Thus men become pos- 
sessed of, and combatants for, those opinions they were never 
convinced of, nor proselytes to; no, nor even had so much as 
floating in their heads; and though one cannot say there are 
fewer improbable, or erroneous, opinions in the world, than there 
are; yet this is certain, there are fewer that actually assent to 
them and mistake them for truths than is imagined." 

Now, first among practical considerations, I ask, Of what 
effect or use in the mind are doctrines or opinions taken thus 
on authority? Of no use, unless to lull to sleep. They confer 
no noble enthusiasm. They create no clearness of thought. 
They furnish no food for reflection. They make the mind 
inert, supine. It matters little in these effects, whether the 
opinions be true or false ; taken implicitly, on authority, they 
are also taken indefinitely, half understood or not understood. 
They cannot stir and awake the mind to thought and earnest- 



ATJTHOKITY. 27 

ness till first they be assimilated, made the mind's own property 
by its own efforts and recognition. 

Again, authority, supposing the opinions true, endangers 
the truth, because the mind, ignorant of the foundation of its 
opinions, is left defenceless before the most delusive sophistry. 
Authority makes " it nearly impossible for the received opinion 
to be rejected wisely and considerately, though it may still be 
rejected rashly and ignorantly; for to shut out discussion 
entirely is seldom possible, and when it once gets in, beliefs not 
grounded on conviction are apt to give way before the slightest 
semblance of an argument. Waiving however this possibility, 
assuming that the true opinion abides in the mind, but abides 
as a prejudice, a belief independent of, and proof against, argu- 
ment, — this is not the way in which truth Ought to be held by a 
rational being. This is not knowing the truth. Truth thus 
held, is but one superstition the more, accidentally clinging to 
the words which enunciate a truth."* "He certainly that has 
searched after truth, though he has not found it, in some points 
has paid a more acceptable obedience to the will of his Maker 
than he that has not searched at all, but professes to have found 
the truth when he has neither searched nor found it; for he that 
takes up the opinions of any church in the lump, without exam- 
ining them, has truly neither searched after nor found truth, but 
has only found those that he thinks have found truth, and so 
receives what they say with an implicit faith, and so pays them 
the homage that is due only to God."f 

To the claim of authority in religion I oppose the conception 
of thought as a duty. Is it not plain that it is everyone's duty 
to think, reason, search, "prove all things and hold fast that 
which is good? " To prove is not to accept blindly another's 
proving or take another's decision, but to prove the tiling, to gaze 
at the object for ourselves. And to hold fast there is no way 
but by proving. One may hold, that is, contain, by mere recep- 
tion; but to hold fast, which is to say, to close the hand on and 
grasp, one must prove. Can one shuffle from himself and lay 
on another the responsibility of living? If not, then is not 
every man's answerableness to live, the greater and more binding 
as we come to the higher regions of life? If every man be 

*Mill on Liberty. -(-Locke. 



28 AUTHORITY. 

answerable for work that he may feed and clothe his own body, 
is he not bound still more to think for himself, reason, examine, 
prove, love, pray, worship, for himself, that his soul may be 
clothed in the garments of the soul, which are earnestness, 
conviction, steadfastness, truthfulness? 

Will it be said that the lower objects, to feed and clothe the 
body, and such like, are to be done easily, and safely may be 
trusted to human reasoning and laboring; but the higher objects, 
faith, hope, religion, are not easy and plain, but " mysteries" and 
" hard sayings," not safely to be trusted to man's reason nor to 
be seen by the light of his mind? But I answer first, Why not 
safely? Because man may err? But can a man fall out of the 
world by wandering? No more can he fall from religion by 
erring, if he err only in his result but fail not in the reverence, 
earnestness and faithfulness of seeking. For it is the seeking 
which is safety, salvation, God's presence with us. To accept a 
faith from some one's command or instruction is to make truth 
like coin or goods that may be put into one's hand by another's 
hand; but to believe with, the heart, that is to know truth as 
spiritual wealth, and is great joy and freedom, not to be had till 
first the truth is proved by the mind. 

And I answer, again, as to the higher and lower objects, 
that it is the high objects which most a man should seek and 
prove with the whole man. If one may give proof, examination, 
reasoning, to the concerns of the body, much more to the things 
of the spirit. If one surely will go astray and come to naught 
who follows his business just as another may point him, using 
not his own caution, much more will he come to no vastness of 
faith, no spiritual riches, no joy of heart-belief, who does away 
with himself in religious things, and takes commands, councils 
creeds. 

But again, spiritual authority might not be so bad as it 
is, if always it founded on an adequate and true sanctity. 
But when we reflect on the effect of time to obscure historical 
credentials, making their study difficult and arduous ; when 
we observe the ceaseless changes of religious opinion, in spite 
of authority, it is plain that authority always, in time, means 
merely usage. In different ages, the same authority supports 
opposite doctrines, and custom determines the authorized opinion 



AUTHOEITY. 29 

of the hour. In many of the old churches of this country the 
Bible was never read on Sunday. It cost years of agitation to 
carry that innovation! "In days gone by, Sunday appears to 
have been a popular day for marriages ; although, as Mr. Jeaffre- 
son, in his amusing history of 'Brides and Bridals,' remarks: 
* A fashionable wedding, celebrated on the Lord's Day in London, 
or any part of England, would now-a-days be denounced by 
religious people of all Christian parties as an outrageous exhi- 
bition of impiety. But in our feudal times, and long after the 
Beformation, Sunday was, of all days of the week, the favorite 
one for marriages. Long after the theatres had been closed on 
Sundays, the day of rest was the chief day for weddings with 
Londoners of every social class.' "* 

For more than 1500 years it was not questioned that the 
Bible declared the realty of witchcraft in the clearest manner. 
Accordingly the dire superstition was believed everywhere. Yet 
who now holds this opinion? This change is merely the different 
usage of different times and peoples. " The doctrine of salva- 
tion in the church was held by all the Lutherans and Keformad, 
and by the sects which separated from them, as well as by the 
Bomish and other churches. Luther teaches that remission of 
sins and sanctification. are only obtained in it; and Calvin says, 
1 Beyond the bosom of the church no remission of sins is to be 
hoped for, nor any salvation.' The Saxon Confession, presented 
to the Synod of Trent, A. D. 1551, the Helvetic Confession, the 
Belgic, the Scottish, all avow that salvation is only to be had in 
the church. The Presbyterian divines assembled at Westminster, 
A. J). 1647, in their ' Humble Advice concerning a Confession 
of Faith,' declare that ' the visible Church, which is also Catholic 
and universal under the Gospel (not confined to one nation, as 
before under the Law) consists of all those throughout the world 
that profess the true religion, out of which there is no ordinary 
possibility of salvation.' The Independents admitted the same. 
Nor was the position of the Anglican church at all different. 
The Athanasian Creed was given an honored place among her 
formularies, and the doctrine which that creed distinctly asserts 
was implied in several of the services of the Church, and was 
strongly maintained by a long succession of her divines. Among 

*Thiselton's "Domestic Folk-Lore. " 



80 AUTHORITY. 

the leading Eeformers, Zuinglius, and Zuinglius alone, openly 
and unequivocally repudiated it. In a Confession of Faith which 
he wrote just before his death, and which marks an important 
epoch in the history of the human mind, he described in mag- 
nificent language that future assembly of all the saintly, the 
heroic, the faithful, and the virtuous, when Abel and Enoch, 
Noah and Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, will mingle with Socrates, 
Aristides, and Antigonus, with Numa and Camillus, Hercules 
and Theseus, the Scipios and the Catos, and when every upright 
and holy man who has ever lived will be present with his God. 
In our age, when the doctrine of exclusive salvation seldom 
excites more than a smile, such language appears but natural; 
but when it was first written it excited on all sides amazement 
and indignation. Luther on reading it said he despaired of the 
salvation of Zuinglius. Bossuet quotes the passage as a climax 
to his charges against the Swiss Reformer, and quotes it as if it 
required no comment, but was in itself sufficient to hand down 
its author to the contempt and indignation of posterity."* 

From such historical facts, we see how futile spiritual auth- 
ority is as a practical guide. It is not less worthless or harmful 
practically, than it is logically absurd and impossible to thought. 
We have no really sacred authority, and cannot have, owing to 
the changes incident to the lapse of time. Slowly and imper- 
ceptibly doctrines and opinions change. The views of different 
ages succeed each other by slight gradations. Only the watchful 
see the change when it is going on, and only the studious dis- 
cover it soon afterward. There is nothing stationary; there can 
not be. God has not made the world so. Whoever anchors his 
mind to authority only becomes the slave of custom, the bond- 
man of temporary usage. But the spirit of a man is too great 
and sacred thus to be enchained. 

This, then, in sum, is my count against authority in religion : 

1. If our minds be sufficient to themselves, authority is 
both needless and impossible. 

2. If our faculties be false, authority is impossible, 
because all conclusion is worthless. 

3. If our faculties be limited, authority must either 
deliver within their sphere, and then is needless, or beyond 
their sphere, and then is unintelligible, 

*Lecky, History of Rationalism. 



AUTHORITY. 3 1 

4. If we have a written authority, we must add to it 
an authoritative interpretation, otherwise the authority is 
rendered futile by private interpretation of it. 

5. Views held merely on authority have no enobling 
effect on mind and character. Also they are held ignorantly, 
liable to overthrow by specious argument. 

6. Thought is a duty; and the higher the subjects 
involved, the greater is the obligation of every man to 
reason for himself. 

7. Authority, owing to inevitable progress in knowledge 
and reason, is really no more than the custom or currency 
of the hour. 

8. The mind of man is too great and august thus to be 
despoiled of its rights of reason and its dignity of judgment. 

" I look over the list of mighty men who have been the school- 
masters of the race," says Theodore Parker, " I see how they 
are forgotten and passed by other schoolmasters, and I wonder at 
the spiritual riches of man, which can afford to lose whole gen- 
erations of philosophers, poets, mighty men, and never feel the 
loss. I wonder at the institutions of mankind, the laws, the 
organizations of church and state. But I see that the spirit of 
man is greater than all these, that it can pull them all down and 
build greater yet, that man's nature is more than his history. 
So I reverence the past, its great institutions and great men, but 
I reverence the nature of man far more than these and put more 
trust in that than in all the achievements of man, all the insti- 
tutions, all the great men of history, who are but as the water- 
eresses and wind-flowers and violets, which come out in a single 
spring day, whilst our human nature is the great earth itself, 
whose bosom bears them all and prepares for a whole spring- 
time of fairer flowers, a whole summer and autumn of richer 
herbage and abundant fruit." 

" What new order of men," exclaims Quinet, " are these ? 
Galileo, Kepler, Newton, to whom it is given to read in the eter- 
nal council of the God of worlds? Let us here give them their 
real name, — they are the prophets of the modern world. We 
must not think that the spirit of God spoke only to the prophets 
of the ancient law, and that since Jeremiah and Ezekiel he has 
never spoken to any one. Those men of the old covenant saw 



32 AUTHORITY. 

beforehand the law which moyes the revolution of human socie- 
ties. But, by this standard, are not Galileo, Kepler and Newton 
also seers ? They read in immensity the laws which move the 
societies of worlds. Where did they perceive those laws, that 
sacred glory contemporaneous with God and co-eternal with 
God, if it be not in God himself ? The least of them all, Lin- 
naeus, after having recognized the laws of life in the infinitely 
little, exclaimed, ' I have just seen the eternal, omnipotent, om- 
niscient God pass behind, and I remained silent with awe.' " 



THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 



''And the Lord shut him in."— Genesis vii. 16. 

We are parting with a summer of Elysian weather. By 
night or by day, it has seemed that we might glory in perfection. 
It is possible that on no other planet, revolving about any of the 
great suns which deck our night-skies with their fires, have 
these many days displayed more beauty to the eye or more satis- 
faction to any sense. Heaven has emptied itself at our feet in 
Paul's three glories, of the sun, of the moon and of the stars. 
We have walked in their light on the other glory, the terrestial. 

As I walked alone one evening, mayhap I was in good 
mood to accept the greeting of Diana the radiant; but however, 
she shone down on me impartially, and I bethought me what a 
van-guard of morals and peace the moon is. Suppose we had 
not our handsome satellite, and all the nights were pitchy black. 
I apprehend that many evils which now skulk out of sight on 
moonlit nights would stalk abroad on all nights, the dark hours 
sheltering dark deeds; and when we consider the force of habit, 
of unimpeded employment, of unhindered indulgence, it may be 
safe to think that the absence of our benign luminary, whereby 
the darkness would be increased, much would enlarge the 
crimes of night and add many to those of day. Therefore, 
probably, without our moon, we should be many centuries 
short of our present civilization. Great cities would not have 
been possible so soon. Hence superstition and ignorance would 
have flourished longer and stronger. Violence and crime would 
have grown so great that hardly would many ages have brought 
forth order and knowledge enough to devise lamps that would 
make safe those aggregations of men in which art, science and 
wealth arise. 



34 THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 

The discovery not long ago of the satellites of our neighbor 
Mars, opened a curious question. Why were these little 
moons never discovered before? Differing answers have been 
given. But one theory is that Mars never before had any moons ; 
that by a fortunate combination of circumstances the planet 
picked them up somewhere, getting them into its sphere of at- 
traction, probably from the asteroidal belt of our system — a ring 
of small bodies revolving about the sun between Mars and 
Jupiter. This belt, according to one theory, has supplied the 
present moons of the planets, and possibly, from time to time, 
may supply others. If this chance to be the true* explanation, 
think what a [prodigious thing for Mars — supposing our 
small but ruddy neighbor inhabited, as is highly probable — to be 
suddenly invested with these moons, gleaming athwart her pre- 
viously inky nights. Very likely her black nights, in that case, 
have been like a wall reared to the sky, resisting progress in 
virtue, arts and knowledge, justifying, like enough, the earthly 
name of the planet by holding it in the martial or warlike stage 
of progress, when violence flourishes, and robbery stalks in dark- 
ness. Possibly the lack of night-light has prevented the growth 
of such large cities as cover our earth; in which case Mars was 
for long time and might be still in the ecclesiastical period of 
superstitious submission to priests, this being the fate of scat- 
tered populations who till the soil, until the growth of cities 
and of manufactures rescues society from spiritual tyranny. Now, 
suppose, over this lawlessness and rudeness suddenly beam two 
moons, small, yet much lighting up the darkness, illuminating 
streets and roads, making the nights safer, giving to peace 
and order advantages unknown before, endowing virtue with 
new eyes that she may walk where only vice dared grope. 
Suppose our earth should be so happy as to pick up another 
moon some fine night, so timed in its revolution that our nights 
were always brilliant with one luminary. I venture that law 
and order would take such a stride immediately as no one looks 
for from all our courts, seminaries and churches in a century. 

But whether the nights be light or dark, one fact of them 
is a force for civilization which can not be overvalued; I mean 
sleep. How valuable is sleep for keeping things quiet, be- 
cause so much time is absorbed by it. Conceive the tricks, de- 



THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 35 

ceits, frauds, insincerities, hatreds, plots, robberies, violences, of 
our present condition, doubled on a sleepless world. What a 
terrifying picture ! Society could not endure. As it is, the 
most eager conspirator must stop plotting, to sleep. Orgies, 
riots, revelries, give way to repose. The criminal is harmless for 
his slumber-time. The violent classes are worn out once a day. 
All the mean and petty stealing of business ceases daily at twi- 
light. If a gambler game all night, he can not also scheme all 
day, but must draw his window-blinds, and sleep. There are 
so many hours every day when no thief wishes to steal, no rioter 
to burn, no robber to lie in wait, no furious man to kill; and 
often the plotting, the angry, ambitious, tempted, think better of 
it in the morning, and go on their way in the light, no one 
knowing and themselves disavowing what they were thinking 
of when sleep overcame them. 

Meantime, they who study the starry heavens do so with the 
advantage of a central position, which certainly is a main gate- 
way of civilization. We have been able to gain a clear idea of 
our planetary system because we are so near the sun. This 
great luminary being the center of all the orbits, the nearer to 
it the observer is, the simpler the motions appear and the more 
easily they are understood. If our earth were one of the remote 
planets, like Uranus, nineteen times our distance from the sun, 
or Neptune, thirty times our distance^ the motions of the heav- 
enly bodies would appear in a maze so complex and difficult that 
we still should be ignorant of their laws. Many ages possibly 
still would have to pass before we could unravel the seeming 
tangle, calculating, describing, mapping the orbits and perturba- 
tions, as now we can with the advantage of our central place. 
And as civilization depends so much on astronomical knowledge, 
by which alone measures and standards of time can be had, by 
which also men are lifted above superstition, we should be still 
held, by these great distances from the sun, in a long and pain- 
ful struggle to emerge from barbarism. 

If to this advantage and effect of our central position, we 
add the importance of the size of the earth to our civilization, we 
shall be still more conscious of the physical conditions which 
have produced our happiness. As long as men are separated widely 
in space and time, they will be unprogressive and helpless, living 



36 THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 

in hordes more or less migratory, or in poor and enslaved agri- 
cultural communities on the one hand, and in warlike marauding 
tribes on the other. It is when men begin to travel over the 
earth more quickly that manufactures and commerce arise, which 
create arts whereby the transit is quickened still more and 
thereby the commerce again enlarged, the earth subdued by 
roads, men informed by intercourse, and nations trained to 
peaceful industry by common interest and merchant navies. It 
can not be guessed, therefore, by what ages our civilization 
might have been held back, if instead of the little distances of the 
waterways and continents of this earth, of whose circumference 
our own country, from sea to sea, comprises one-eighth, we had 
to traverse the enormous distances on the surface of Uranus or 
Neptune, thirteen and seventeen times the size of the earth, or 
of Saturn, ninety times, or of the gigantic globe of Jupiter, three 
hundred times the earth's mass. 

It is thus that we may liken the sidereal spaces to a great 
deluge, in which this little ark of safety, the Earth, and, not to 
be selfish, no doubt other arks, like neighbor Mars, for example, 
whose configuration perhaps we can dimly make out from our 
windows, — go rolling on the face of the waters; — and the Lord 
has shut us in. He has shut us in with much compulsory hap- 
piness, or, at the lowest rating of it, a certain impunity whereby 
we are saved from much injury, and with aids and protections 
whereby mind and morality may grow, — with a globe of short 
girth and central position, with a moon, and with sleep. 

As to this earth in which the Lord has shut us in, some 
persons will have it that an end is predicted and destruction 
will overtake it. No whit startling is the notion of an end of it, 
since it has had many geological phases through countless ages, 
and must have passed at some time through what we may call 
its beginning. Some say, that however we explain the traditions 
of an ancient deluge, it is certain there will be one in the future. 
The pole, it is said, now points to the north star by virtue 
of gravitation, by reason of the bulk of mineral matter around 
the pole. The eroding action of the water is carrying this 
mineral weight away gradually and depositing it in the watery belt 
around the bulge of the equator. Therefore we see rocky coasts 
toward the north but in the south sandy flats. How far this 



THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 37 

process has gone we cannot tell, but it is asserted that it will 
continue until some point on the equator become heaver than 
the polar land, whereupon suddenly the earth will roll over to 
bring this heavy point to the north star, by which the axis will be 
changed and the ocean poured violently over half the earth in a 
terrific flood, sweeping off immense areas of living beings, sub- 
merging continents and raising others, and reversing the present 
climates. Others again say the earth meets a steady resistance 
in its orbit by the tenuous matter diffused through space, by the 
friction of which the earth must loses its motion gradually and 
fall into the sun. It is said also that the geological history of the 
planet foretells a decreptitude or old age, because the atmos- 
phere will be absorbed and fixed in solid compounds on the sur- 
face, water will disappear, life will become extinct. "As the earth 
keeps cooling," we are told, " it will become porous, and great 
cavities will be formed in the interior, which will take in the 
water. It is estimated that this is now in progress; so far the water 
diminishes at about the rate of the thickness of a sheet of writ- 
ing paper each year. At this rate in 6,000,000 years the water 
will have sunk a mile, and in 15,000,000 years every trace of water 
will have disappeared from the face of the globe. The nitrogen 
and oxygen are also diminishing all the time. It is in an inap- 
preciable degree, but the time will come when the air will be so 
thin that no creatures we know could breathe it and live; the 
time will come when the world can not support life. That will 
be the period of age, and then will come death." We are told, 
again, that every thing runs its proper course and ends; that, 
however it be with the individual man, we must expect the race 
to follow the course of all other species ; that even now it is 
probable we have reached the height and must begin our long 
decline; that the most brilliant intellectual epochs of man's ex- 
istence are nearly closed; that different sciences unite in fixing 
the period of intellectual life on a planet of this size to a very 
limited period compared with its past history; and that probably 
more than half of this period is already gone ; that signs of de- 
creptitude appear; that the American natives die out, the Tas- 
manians have gone, the Australians diminish, the New Zealand- 
ers and Pacific tribes are disappearing, and that even in our own 
race old age embraces a larger portion of life, showing a failure 



38 THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 

of vitality. Meantime we hear of remote suns that suddenly 
blaze up and shine with great brightness for a time, and then 
sink to their former state or disappear. Already has our sun 
cast out gigantic flames, which wrought magnetic perturbations 
and startling electric phenomena on the earth; if he should 
flame up like some of those remote cosmic bodies, the earth in- 
stantly would be dissolved in fiery vapor. 

There can be no doubt that with our present knowledge 
some of these predictions seem probable. Whatever certainty 
may be claimed by some, in my view it is too early in the day to 
foretell the evening. With all our boasted knowledge, I appre- 
hend that the complexity of cosmic possibilities is beyond any pres- 
ent elucidation which can justify dogmatism,[and that the details of 
geologic changes and the moral and physical destinies of humanity 
on this planet yet are far beyond inductive demonstration. 
But however, the stretches of time which we must contemplate 
are enormous. If the earth be to fall into the sun or the atmos- 
phere to be solidified into metallic oxides, it is admitted that the 
catastrophe is distant by millions of years. Meantime, " still 
stands the forest primeval," still the tides oscillate, the rivers 
run, the sun rises gloriously and lifts clouds to screen his 
heat, the rain falls soft as down, the moon decks the slumber of 
innocence. All that ministers to the human soul and fills *the 
earth with splendor, yet will create aeons of gladness and over- 
flow the earth with children's peals and love's delights and 
thought's raptures; so that the earth shall be heavier with 
happiness than with its mineral kingdom, and, as it were, the 
weight of human joy shall relinquish it to the bosom of the sun. 
What a great glory! If the chapter shall be finished, 'tis but a 
short passage in the cosmic work, and yet how crammed with 
magnificence of blissful experience! I think that we shall lay 
it down with a happy sigh, relieved to read no more for that time, 
till we have learned to bear what already we have perused of 
beauty and of joy. There will be no waste. Nothing will be 
lost. 'Tis yet impossible for us to say how the small and simple 
things or lowly creatures on this earth are economized in respect 
of its own surface. Little by little we explore the wonderful 
web of dependencies and find the place and value of each thing, 
from love and thought to an earth-worm, Mayhap from some 



THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 39 

inconceivable altitude the astonished human - family will look 
down on the last prodigious convulsion of this little ball which 
trundled us through space, and see how the matter of which we 
know so little gathers itself for new evolutions of joy after fin- 
ishing its part in ours. 

Nay, we never shall know the secret of matter, for the mys- 
tery of the body and the mystery of the soul are one. Both end 
in the eternal, to know which were death for the finite. But I 
see that nature sets her seal on individual life and surrounds it 
with sanctions and protectious. I fear no cataclysms. What 
if at this moment while I speak some gigantic flames of hydro- 
gen from the sun shooting out millions of miles should vaporize 
the earth instantly! There would not be one whit less of life or 
of joy in the universe. Visible species would disappear; so they 
may disappear on this earth's surface by slow or sudden geolo- 
gic changes, the human for aught we now can prove no less than 
others. But by whatever other senses or in whatever other 
relations to be known, the individual is set forth indestruc- 
tible; and for this I wish to appeal, at this moment, not to 
the mind with its deathless fires of aspiration and love, but to 
physical nature; that we may see in what kind of ark the Lord 
has shut us in, and how he has shut us in by such precautions 
for mental life and moral glory as constrain us to go some way 
toward him, that then we may see and follow after his eternal 
beauty with worship. It has been said very often, when men have 
talked over their fate in view of the mystery of death, and many 
have sought anxiously to find some sanctions or hints in phys- 
ical nature that they shall live still in altered modes, — it has 
been said very often that nature cares nothing for the individual 
but" only for the species; that nature has great solicitude to per- 
petuate the kind and preserve the type or species, but is un- 
cerned about the fate of any one or more individuals, who may 
perish and welcome, when it happens so. This seemed quite 
conclusive, and they who could not rid themselves of a persua- 
sion of immortality left nature to its dead and appealed to the 
powers of the mind for proof against death. Now, at last, sci- 
ence invites us probably to go back and pick up these 
dropped strands, and rectify our interpretations. If " the ener- 
getic passion of repose " with which the mind embraces life, be 



40 THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 

indeed the dew-fall of a sky which is all life, it would be passing 
strange if no drops thereof were found on the face of matter 
but only the dust of death. Now I see science begins to teach 
that by no means it is to preserve the species that Nature is care- 
ful, but to improve the species, not to maintain the kind in- 
tact but to alter it continually to attain better kinds; and that to 
this end she is watchful to guard the individual and surround 
the best or strongest or most highly organized or most beautiful 
with special and wonderful modes of protection, maintenance, 
and perpetuation. By this a constant " natural selection " 
goes on which cherishes the individual and thereby developes a 
nobler race wonderfully by fortifying its noblest individuals. 
This process goes on till by the slow change of body and 
soul under Nature's care, man is reached. Then we see a slow 
but total revolution, a wonderful change in the direction of 
the law. The body then begins to alter very slowly. It be- 
comes sensibly fixed and stationary, because a power has come 
into prominence called mind, which itself is able to shape Nature, 
to modify her works, to will and to do. Henceforth Nature 
drops the body mainly to the care of that crowning mind, and 
takes up that mind itself whereon still to work her wonders of 
selection, and still to cover with solicitude the best and most 
beautiful individuals. Thus the crown of effort, the desire of 
all creatures, the love of Nature is set on the mind of man, in 
which individuality triumphs and the fires of immortality were 
kindled while the body yet was misshapen and wretched. 

Beautiful and moving is it to see (if here I may take a side- 
glance at it) how the energy of Nature unfolds and enforces 
mere happiness; for happiness is a glory of creation. However 
much may be said about the pleasures of animals in their 
wild freedom, it is to be feared the picture is overdrawn. The 
wild stag indeed " feels " the trees with his antlers in the pride 
of strength. The elephant fans himself, according to the habit- 
of those sagacious creatures, with boughs of trees broken off by 
him for that purpose. There are ecstatic careerings of birds in 
the air,' and floods of melody from swaying tree-tops. There are 
dartings of sunny fish in clear waters. No doubt there is an up- 
roar of gaiety in tropical luxuriance, which tops the struggle of 
life as a flower beams on a cactus. Animals often display an 



THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 41 

" antic dispostion " and great sportiveness. Still, probably the 
life of wild creatures is laborious, tremulous, fear-haunted ; often 
they go hungry; they are frightened continually; constantly they 
must run or fight for life, according to their nature, and even the 
timorous and poorly armed sometimes must do battle under the 
impulse of the parental instinct, when their young are threatened. 
Scientific observers say that " the life of all beasts in their wild state 
is an exceedingly anxious one; that ' every antelope in South 
America has literally to run for its life once in every one or two 
days upon an average, and that he starts or gallops under the in- 
fluence of a false alarm many times a day.' " But indeed this fact 
any one may observe, here or anywhere, who will but notice the 
birds carefully. And can anything be more terrified and anxious 
than the life of a stray cat, or more sorrowful, cringing, spirit- 
less and famine- struck than the days of a vagrant dog? 

It is just so with a wild man. I suspect that in our shel- 
tered life, we can not picture the misery of a savage. Indeed 
there is a charm, we fancy, in this life of liberty under the trees, 
with no conventional cares, none of the toils which tax luxury or 
convenience. Possibly we give scope to a poetic imagination, 
picture a " noble savage" in colossal form and fine proportions, 
admirable for strength, courage, perhaps magnanimity and other 
brave virtues, and endowed with a wild, rough radiant happi- 
ness. But this picture is a mirage on a fog. The blithe exuber- 
ance of a Brazillian forest has little joy for the wild man. He is a 
wretched, stooping, ill-shaped creature, low in stature, ferocious 
but not brave, the victim of tortures and of perpetual fear. 
Lubbock reports him "always suspicious, always in danger, 
always on the watch ; " Darwin writes " The astonishment which 
I felt on first seeing a party of Fuegians on a wild and broken 
shore will never be forgotten by me. * * * These men were 
absolutely naked and bedaubed with paint, their long hair was 
tangled, their mouths frothed with excitement, and their ex- 
pression was wild, startled and distrustful. They possessed 
hardly any arts, and, like wild animals, lived on what they could 
catch." 

But this is not the divine purpose. From this misery, man 
is shut out. He can go in it but a little way. He is shut in to 
happiness. He must go in at the gate of it, and find the heart 



42 THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 

of the garden. It is a saying of Emerson that when the Lord 
wishes to accomplish anything, " he impresses his will in the 
structure of minds," — we may add also in the structure of the 
abode of mind, the body, and of the abode of the body, the frame 
of earth and sky. In the mind of man the Providential will is 
set and sealed, a will which also has wrought in all things for 
man's glory and joy. However abject and wretched in his be- 
ginning, man alone is endowed with the mysterious secret of 
progress, urged by a sublime wonder in his nature to seek a bet- 
ter state as surely as flame seeks the sun; and the Lord has 
shut him in and compelled him to greatness and happiness. 
This is done by all the agencies of the physical creation which 
work wonderfully together to constrain man to grow good, wise 
and happy. Over all creatures the same laws work. By a selec- 
tion which every instant testifies to loving-kindness at the heart 
of things, the best bodies are chosen to live, — the finest organ- 
isms, the most beautiful forms, the creatures who by structure 
can enjoy the most and fill nature with the most loveliness and 
bliss. By this process, bodies and intelligencies are refined and 
enlarged until man is reached; when suddenly, so far as yet we 
know, by a strange and wonderful leap, a mind appears capable 
of storing experience, of creating language, of progress. Even 
after this, only by long ages of nature's toil the end is attained. 
Still a rough uncouth body is to be refined, the vocal cords strung 
tunefully, the dome of the head rounded, the face beautified. 
But from the moment when this royal mind appears, nature 
gradually drops the body to concern herself with the selection of 
mind. The body becomes nearly stationary. The man himself 
begins to work back on nature, to mould her great processes by 
right of his will and intelligence; and, Nature, most tender of 
that will which is achieving command in her, and glorying in 
that mind which can read the star-book of the skies, survey the 
winds, map the oceans, penetrate the secrets of the globe's struc- 
ture, Nature, I say, leaves it to man himself to continue the 
selection of bodies, by his own intelligence; but she sits in jeal- 
ous judgment continuing her selection of minds. 

I quote after Lubbock the following from Wallace: " With a 
naked and unprotected body, this ["that subtle force we term 
mind "] gave him clothing against the varying inclemencies of 



THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 43 

the seasons. Though unable to compete with the deer in swiftness, 
or with the wild bull in strength, this gave him weapons where- 
with to capture or overcome both. Though less capable than most 
other animals of living on the herbs and the fruits that unaided 
nature supplies, this wonderful faculty taught him to govern and 
direct nature to his own benefit, and make her produce food for 
him when and where he pleased. From the moment when the 
first skin was used as a covering, when the first rude spear was 
formed to assist in the chase, the first seed sown or shoot planted, 
a grand revolution was effected in nature, a revolution which in 
all the previous ages of the world's history had had no parallel ; 
for a being had arisen who was no longer necessarily subject to 
change with the changing universe. — a being who was in some 
degree superior to nature, in as much as he knew how to control 
and regulate her action, and could keep himself in harmony with 
her, not by a change in body but by an advance in mind. 

Here then we see the true grandeur and dignity of man. On 
this view of his special attributes, we may admit that even those 
who claim for him a position and an order, a class or a sub- 
kingdom by himself, have some reason on their side. He is in- 
deed a being apart, since he is not influenced by the great laws 
which irresistibly modify all other organic beings. Nay, more; 
this victory which he has gained for himself gives him a direct- 
ing influence over other existences. Man has not only escaped 
natural selection himself, but he is actually able to take away some 
of that power from Nature which, before his appearance, she uni- 
versally exercised. We can anticipate the time when the earth 
will produce only cultivated plants and domestic animals ; when 
man's selection shall have supplanted natural selection, and 
when the ocean will be the only domain in which that power 
can be exerted which for countless cycles of ages ruled supreme 
over the earth." 

To this great work all powers are marshaled. By one law 
or process after another in the realm of matter, the Lord has shut 
man in to spiritual power and happiness. To sketch the aids 
bestowed on him, or rather the compulsions that shut him in, 
would be the same as to detail the wonders of the sciences and 
to count all the serviceable ways of water, earth, air, clay, and 
arable soils, stars, moon, and the seasons, climates, mountains 



44 THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 

and valleys, rivers and springs, forests, rocks, metallic ores, ani- 
mals, birds, fishes, insects. But the most impressive way, per- 
haps, in which the Lord has shut us in, is by the balance of 
advantages and difficulties. On the one hand you will find a 
propitious climite, a soil not too fertile, an atmosphere neither 
too moist nor too dry, no overwhelming depressing exuberance of 
nature, but a fair return for effort and a free field for the excer- 
cise of man's energies, enterprise and arts. On the other hand 
in this same favored place, you will find mountains that must be 
tunneled, rivers that must be bridged or dredged, immense tracts 
of land to be rescued from the sea, waters pushed back by 
great dykes, dangerous shoals or rocks which wreck one vessel 
after another till triumphs of engineering build lighthouses on 
them, miasmatic swamps that must be drained and ditched, sandy 
impediments which must be crossed by canals. All these works 
are done, and the advantages by which Nature has developed in 
man the arts, knowledge and courage to undertake them, find 
their crowning advantage in the discipline of him by these same 
difficulties, and the hardihood and daring of mind which the 
victory nourishes. 

Man may be viewed as thought, will and feeling. See how 
he is shut in to unfold these. He alone can escape misery by 
progress ; he alone is wretched unless he advance. Of all crea- 
tures, he alone begins where he shall not stay, and is miserable 
in a wild state by a sort of wonderful prescience of the joys that 
await his species. His brute fellow-beings are equipped at once 
with comparative perfections, with teeth, claws, tails, that are 
weapons and tools, with skins that are warm and tough gar- 
ments of wool and hair. Man alone is driven to invent if he 
will not be naked to the cold and helplessly weak. Other crea- 
tures with all their anxieties and wars, are a part of Nature's ex- 
uberance, and suffer no opposition save in the general process of 
Nature's bodily selection and in the preying of one on another 
which keeps the balance of life. But all oppose themselves to 
man ; the very prodigality of nature is his foe till he learns in 
temperate and sterile soils how to battle with the tropical. 
Meantime he must extirpate beasts and birds of prey, invent 
ways of communication, make roads and vehicles, do away with 
diseases and famines. All this he has done triumphantly; the 
most cruel plagues, leprosies, fevers have disappeared ; and 



THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 45 

whereas frightful famines formerly desolated Europe severa- 
times in a century, now scientific authorities declare such a cal- 
amity impossible, through the advance of chemical knowledge. 
These forces have shut in the intellect and will to their appropri- 
ate discipline on the one hand and necessary advantages on the 
other. Forjeeling, is spread out all the magnificent color, light, 
form and sound of Nature which unite in exalted beauty. These 
lead out the admiring spirit by sense of sight and of hearing, to 
answer to the magnificence of fire and water and their geologi- 
cal workmanship. It is the subtle remark of a great student of 
men that " as the beauty of the material world mainly depends 
on that irregularity of aspect without which scenery would have 
presented no variety of form and but little variety of color, we 
shall, I think, not be guilty of too refined a subtlety, if we say that 
fire, by saving us from the monotony to which water would have 
condemned us [by its wearing of all things down to a level] , has 
been the remote cause of that development of the imagination 
which has given us our poetry, our painting and our sculpture, 
and has thereby not only wonderfully increased the pleasures of 
life, but has imparted to the human mind a completeness of 
function to which, in the absence of such a stimulus, it could not 
have attained."* 

Of these balanced advantages and disciplines of nature 
by which the Lord shuts us in, there are majestic stores yet 
waiting. When we advance to do battle with the tropics, 
we shall find difficulties such as never yet we have battled 
with, and a corresponding greatness of reward to victory, and 
even of advantages by the way, when knowledge and virtue shall 
grow stalwart enough to deal with this prodigious and swarming 
life. I take from Buckle an eloquent paragraph descriptive of 
the resistance of nature to man in Brazil : " Brazil, which is 
nearly as large as the whole of Europe, is covered with a vege- 
tation of incredible profusion. Indeed so rank and luxuriant 
is the growth, that nature seems to riot in the very wantoness of 
power. A great part of this immense country is filled with 
dense and tangled forests, whose noble trees blossoming in un- 
rivalled beauty, and exquisite with a thousand hues, throw out 
their produce in endless prodigality. On their summits are 
perched birds of gorgeous plumage which nestle in their dark and 
* Buckle. 



46 THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 

lofty recesses. Below, their base and trunks are covered with 
brush- wood, creeping plants, innumerable parasites, all swarm- 
ing with life. There, too, are myriads of insects of every variety; 
reptiles of strange and singular form; serpents and lizards 
spotted with deadly beauty ; all of which find means of existence 
in this vast workshop and repository of nature. And that noth- 
ing may be wanting to this land of marvels, the forests are 
skirted by enormous meadows, which, reeking with heat and 
moisture, supply nourishment to countless herds of wild cattle, 
that browse and fatten on their herbage; while the adjoining 
plains rich in another form of life, are the chosen abode of the 
subtlest and most ferocious animals, which prey on each other, 
but which it might almost seem no human power can hope to 
extirpate. Such is the flow and abundance of life by which 
Brazil is marked above all the other countries of the earth. 
But amid this pomp and splendor of nature no place is left for 
man. He is reduced to insignificance by the majesty with 
which he is surrounded. The forces that oppose him are so 
formidable that he has never been able to make head 
against them; never able to rally against their accumulated 
pressure. The whole of Brazil, notwithstanding its immense 
apparent advantages, has always remained entirely uncivilized, 
its inhabitants wandering savages, incompetent to resist those 
obstacles which the very bounty of nature has put in their way. 
* * * The physical causes are so active and do their work on a 
scale of such unrivaled magnitude, that it has hitherto been found 
impossible to escape from the effects of their united action. 
The progress of agriculture is stopped by impassable forests and 
the harvests are destroyed by innumerable insects. The mount- 
ains are too high to scale, the rivers are too wide to bridge; every- 
thing is contrived to keep back the human mind, and repress 
its rising ambition." 

But, I think, it follows from all the past triumphs of thought 
and will in art, enterprise and knowledge, that when a knowl- 
edge great enough is gathered, and arts potent enough follow 
the knowledge, we shall lack neither will nor power to grapple 
with even this wilderness and subdue it to the service of man. 
It is the gymnastic of nature. It is the task before us to which 
we are shut in, which we shall find, above all our experiences, 
prodigious both in advantages and in discipline. When the 



THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 47 

work is done, — who can tell how many ages hence or under 
what conditions of mighty engines and subtle arts? — the glories 
of it will surpass all powers of language or imagination, nor 
can we conceive what the race may be when capable of this 
victory. Then into this great canopy spread out by Thought 
and Will, Feeling will step forth, in royal purple, into such en- 
chantments as Scheheredzade never dreamed of, such scenes of 
majestic beauty as might be called bewildering now; but an en- 
larged sense will comprehend and enjoy them with rapture. I 
think religion may glow with this anticipation. I believe that 
in such a scene the songs of human praise will be like the repe- 
tition, in that fulness of time, of the song of the morning stars 
when all the glory set out; and that men will know it is the 
Lord who has shut us in. 

Thus, in a brief sketch or mere suggestion, by which I but 
tip-toe the threshhold of nature's method, I have tried to show 
man and nature working together, and the material world with 
all its shapes and substances conspiring for mind. Hamilton 
says, "In nature there is nothing great but man, in man there 
is nothing great but mind"; but I would rather say that the 
greatness of Nature selects her best things for man's greatness 
and nurses him in divine ways, till he can join with her in 
selection by the powers of thought and will, and rejoice in her 
spiritual meanings by the powers of feeling. Till that great 
wonder appears which from the side of natural objects we may 
call a progressive species, from the side of individual experience, 
the human mind, it is as if Nature slept unconscious; but then 
suddenly in this recumbent first man nature begins to dream, 
and at last "dreams of its dream, " and so awakes.* 

This word " dream " recalls noble words of Wasson, where- 
with I will end: ' ' Conceive the situation of the animal man in the 
midst of the physical universe. What an insect, what an atomy, 
what an insignificance he appears! Without natural clothing, 
without natural weapons, wanting the wing and eye of the fal- 
con, wanting the scent, speed and native cunning of the fox, a 
mere mouthful to some of his animal neighbors, feeble in in- 
stinct, delicate in digestion, more sensitive and susceptible of 
pain, and less supplied by nature with ready-made supply than 
any other creature, — he exhibits the maximum of want and the 

* "We are near waking when we dream that we dream." — Novalis. 



48 THE EARTH'S FRIENDLINESS. 

minimum of resource. What can he do but tug and sweat 
under the whip of his own necessities? Lorded over by the im- 
mense system of the world, what sentiment can he have but that 
of his own littleness, subjection and insignificance? When the 
thunder breaks, when the storm roars, when the sea rages, when 
the earth shakes, when the elements are at their horse-play, 
what is he? The grass beneath his feet grows fearlessly when 
his knees are knocking together. The pines lift their proud 
heads to wrestle with the tempest when he dives for an uncer- 
tain security into a hole in the earth. Nature overlies him with 
all its weight; what shall lift it off, lift him above it, and en- 
throne him in a sense of the sovereign significance of his being? 

It is done by a peculiar resource within himself; by some- 
what, which, in allusion to its etherial nature, I shall at present 
call the immanent dream of the human soul; a dream that stands 
in perpetual defiant contiast with his outward experience. The 
forces of the world enslave him; he dreams pure freedom, abso- 
lute and immortal. All things around him change and help- 
lessly he changes with them; he dreams a conscious poise and 
comprehension that mutation can not invade. Time sweeps 
past with its succession of days, and on the wings of the days 
his life flies to disappear as they do; he dreams the conscious 
eternal. The world affronts him with hard, material, impene- 
trable fact, insolently independent of him, owing nothing as 
appears to any principle in his breast; he dreams the primacy 
and universality of thought, holding the solid universe in solu- 
tion forever. In the physical world force is the be-all and end- 
all; he dreams the conscious right, commissioned with author- 
ity to judge reality by ideal standards and renew it in an ideal 
image. All that he beholds partakes, of imperfection ; he dreams 
the perfect — beauty and good without flaw and without in- 
stabilty." 

It is certain that any other creature so large as man, and 
so weak, having neither the powers of great muscles and natural 
weapons like the prowling beasts, nor the strength of large 
swarms like the insects, nor extreme tenacity of life like the 
reptiles, would dwindle and perish miserably. But the Lord 
has shut him in, by laws and methods of visible things, whereby 
they wait as servitors on the immortality of mind. 



FOKGIVENESS, 



"Forgive us our trespasses, as we also have forgiven those who have tres- 
passed against us."— Mat. vi. 12. 

I take a familiar translation of my text different from the 
authorized version and from the revised version. Both of them 
say " debts " instead of " trespasses." The Greek word means 
things owed to another, a debt, hence, things owed because not paid, 
hence, a failure in obligation, a delinquency, and so, in general 
transgression. Better, therefore, render it by such a word as 
" trespass" or wrong-doing or sin, especially as the parallel place 
in Luke* has the word " sins " plainly and literally. The Greek 
word used in Luke comes of a verb that means to mUs, to miss 
the mark, to err from the way, hence to turn away from the right, to do 
wrong, to err; and it is only in this tropical sense that the word is 
used in the New Testament. It is good criticism to explain 
the word in Matthew by the word in Luke; and wise it seems to 
me to translate it according to its explanation. Hence I like 
the rendering, forgive us our sins, or trespasses, or transgres- 
sions. To trespass and to transgress mean the same, for tres- 
pass is but trunsj)&ss, — to go beyond the limit. Sin is Saxon, 
meaning impiety or offense against divine law. 

The meaning of the text is very plain in the original ; but it 
is not shown in the old version, "Forgive us our debts as we 
forgive our debtors." For this is a prayer to be forgiven in what- 
ever measure we forgive. And so it is understood commonly; 
and many have been afraid to utter the prayer, being conscious 
or fearful of imperfect forgiving by themselves. But this is not 
the meaning. The old translators omitted to render a word 

* Lc. xi. 4. 



50 FORGIVENESS. 

meaning also. Moreover we have a more critical text than they 
had, thanks to the modern scholars who have explored a vast 
array of manuscripts with reverent care, to educe the true text 
from the multitude of " various readings." This better text gives 
a different tense of the verb in the second clause of the text. 
So that the revised version renders, "Forgive us our debts, as we 
also have forgiven our debtors." The word translated " also " I 
think has an intensive force here, as if we should say, " as even we 
have forgiven;" and both the old version and revised version 
translate it so in a similar connection in another place, where 
Paul says, " I would that all men were even as I myself."* This 
meaning is very plain in Luke, where the word " for " is used 
with the " also " and the intensive pronoun " ourselves " is 
added, "Forgive us our sins; for we ourselves also forgive every 
one that is indebted to us."f The meaning might be rendered 
freely thus, "Forgive us, thou who art perfect and holy, for 
even we, the imperfect and erring, do forgive; " as Jesus argues 
in another place that surely the infinite Father will benefit his 
children since even we give not to our babes a stone for a loaf or 
a serpent for a fish. J 

It is true that after the prayer follows in Matthew the pas- 
sage " For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father 
will also forgive you ; but if ye forgive not men their trespasses, 
neither will your Father forgive your trespasses; " thus seeming 
to lay stress on the prayer as meaning to pray that we may be 
forgiven in measure as we forgive, But this passage stands in 
Matthew alone. Luke, who gives the prayer, takes no notice of 
this argument after it. There is naught in the gospels like to it, 
except the passage in Mark " Whensoever ye stand praying, for- 
give if ye have aught against anyone; that your Father also 
which is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses; "§ which I 
rather would parallel with that precept in Matthew, and explain 
by the same, " If thou art offering thy gift at the altar and thou 
rememberest that thy brother hath aught against thee, leave there 
thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to 
thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift."|| For these pas- 

* 1 Cor. vii. 7. + Lc. xi. 4. JMt. vii. 9. §Mc. xi. 25. Verse 26, the negative 
form of the statement is omitted by critical editors and by the translators 
of the revised version. ||Mt. v. 3. 



FOEGIVENESS. 5 1 

sages mean, not that we pray to be forgiven in measure as we 
forgive, but that if we strive not to avoid enemity with a forgiv- 
ing spirit, surely we are in no state to look for the blessing of 
God or to receive it. Therefore I must think that the argument 
in Matthew which follows the prayer expresses not so truly the 
Christian tradition as the other gospels do, which have not this 
argument. 

But the text, understood as I have explained it, still has in 
it, distinctly stated, the two aspects of forgiveness, the divine 
and the human, forgiveness among men, and the forgiveness of 
the heavenly Father. To these two now I turn. I wish to speak 
of the meaning of forgiveness, the true doctrine of it, as related 
to Grod and to men. 

There must be some good and true meaning to the prayer, 
"Forgive us our sins," because it is universal and has contin- 
ued from the beginning until now. Little indeed of human 
effort, expression, struggle, is all evil, all unmeaning, empty, 
worthless. Every human endeavor, striving of heart and soul, 
form of words, has two parts, the rudeness, ugliness, wildness, 
fierceness of the beginning of humanity, and the beauty, love, 
spirituality, intelligence, which was the aim of all Nature and 
the divine prophecy in man while yet he was unshapen and low. 
Therefore nothing which is very wide and belongs to human 
conditions everywhere, is wrong altogether, but has a mingling 
of man's low state and of the high intention of Nature in him 
which he shall come to. So is it with the prayer, " Forgive us our 
sins." Let us reason, therefore, about this primal and still living 
prayer, that we may understand clearly the good thing which 
man has groped after or set his faith on by this prayer. 

What then shall we say is meant by forgiveness? 

Can it mean to undo the wrong act? Surely not. The past 
deed can not be drawn back to be done over or to be done away. 
It has become a part of the eternity gone, which is unchangeable. 
There is a story of two angels following each man, one over the 
right shoulder and one over the left ; the angel at the left 
writes every ill deed in a book, but when the man repents and 
does a good deed, the angel at the right lets fall a tear of joy 
which washes out the record of the evil. But there is no eras- 
ing of record, — neither in things nor in memory. The deed is 



52 FORGIVENESS. 

inwoven with everything forevermore; yea, and record of it, so 
the scientists tell us, is on nature like an ineffaceable writing. 
The vibrations and motions set going by the deed never stop; 
they are imprinted on the heavens forever to the remotest star. 

But if forgiveness can not mean to undo the deed, can it 
mean to remove the guilt of the deed? Surely not; almost I 
might say more surely not than before. For if the deed must 
stay unchanged; how much less, if there can be difference of de- 
gree where all is impossible, can the moral quality of the deed 
be changed; for this lay in the motive of the soul at the time, in 
the delicate spiritual state, the purpose, hope, wish, a mental 
deed, finer than air but outlasting mountains, yea, the earth 
and the stars. 

It is sure and plain, and we need no more than this glance 
to see it, that forgiveness can not mean to undo a deed or to re- 
move the moral quality of the deed. The deed and all its qual- 
ity, once done, is a part of the almightiness of God. 

Therefore forthwith I will give the possible and reasonable 
meaning of forgiveness, which is in the mind of men when they 
seek or give pardon; but we shall do well to define carefully 
more than is common, for we wish to know what forgiveness is 
in God. 

Forgiveness is understood to be the putting away from the 
mind of an offense done us, or the renewal of inward quiet and 
peace when injury has disturbed us. Now, offense rouses us 
in two points; first in judgment, whereby we condemn the 
offense as a wrong; secondly, in feeling wherein we are stirred 
against the offender with anger or enemity. Hence forgivenes 
is two-fold, corresponding to the double effect of offense. For 
as offense kindles anger, so, first, forgiveness is the subduing of 
enemity; and as offense rouses judgment in condemnation, so, 
secondly, forgiveness relates also to this, and here divides again 
into two parts; first, the remission of penalty, if any sentence 
have been passed or be impending; and secondly, the resumption 
of the previous trust or of the relations thereon founded, which 
the offense has broken. 

To define forgiveness, therefore, in brief, state it thus: For- 
giveness is in three parts. 

1. The doing away with anger or enemity. 



FOEGIVENESS. 53 

2. The resuming of a broken trust. 

3. The remission of penalty. 

With this view of forgiveness and this definition of it, I 
will reason now of divine forgiveness. 

What, then, means the forgiveness of God? 

It is plain that the first of these parts of forgiveness can 
have no place in God. To forgive is to lay aside or subdue en- 
mity, anger, vengefulness, aversion. But God is not angry, or 
like an enemy, or vindictive, or able to hate. Therefore in that 
meaning of forgiveness, God forgives not, nor can, because he 
has no unkindness or wrath to put away. This, it is true, is 
not the common teaching; for we hear much of " sinners in the 
hands of an angry God," and of God that he is " a consuming 
fire" of wrath with the erring, and " angry with the sinner every 
day." This is Yahvism or Jehovism. 'Tis true the Deity of 
the Jews was such a fire and fierceness. But we know that 
God is not angry, nor has aught in him to be named wrath 
which can be put away from him, nor is at enemity with the 
fallen or sinful for an instant, but like the father's heart in 
Jesus' great parable of the Prodigal, which knew no feeling 
but mourning while his son was a wanderer and great joy when 
he came back. It is a false thought of evil that sin is a wrong 
against God at which he is offended. God is not wronged or 
trespassed on. He is not a governor or king giving forth com- 
mands, not a legislator making laws, wronged or invaded if the 
commands or enactments be slighted. God is the life and spirit 
which lives and breathes in all things; and an ill deed or sin is 
not an offense against any command or code or rule, but a dis- 
obedience or neglect of the holiness of God set and witnessed in 
our souls; which is to say, a turning away from the nature and 
character which we are made for, and a defaming or injuring of 
that nature; which is to say, a wrong upon ourselves and a tres- 
pass on our own souls. God is the call of the soul unto glory and 
goodness. Wherefore sin may be called disobedience; but God 
is not injured nor angry as for an injury or a defiance. So that he 
forgives not in the sense of laying aside of enemity or anger, for 
he had none to put away. 

If then there be no forgiveness of God in the first part of 
the meaning of it, what shall be said of the second part of it, 



54 FOEGIVENESS. 

namely, the resuming of trust or of relations belonging thereto 
which have been broken or shaken? Doth God forgive in this 
sense? 

Plainly and surely this meaning of forgiveness hath as lit- 
tle part in divinity as the other. Doth God resume ought? 
Doth he cast away aught and take it up again? Doth he suffer 
disappointment? Doth he repose confidence, as a man doth? 
Is he deceived? Doth ever he build a house on the sand? Doth 
he place his trust and set his love and afterward is betrayed, 
wronged, overcome, put upon, outreached, entangled, like a 
man? And doth God come to a sinner to give place and trust 
unto him again only because he will? Surely it is plain that 
God is with the soul at all times according to the state of the 
soul, never lured or beguiled by any appearance or pretense, nay, 
not even by a resolve or promise which deceives even the man 
who makes it, by a show of strength where there is no strength, 
because the resolution is not holy or humble or prayerful enough 
— not by this nor by aught is God blinded or drawn aside; but 
forever he knows the soul as it is. He can not resume trust or 
aught whatever; for the soul never had of him aught that be- 
longed not to its true state *and nature; and at every moment 
the soul hath of him all that belongs to it. Before the soul falls 
and sins, it hath of God all that belongs to it in its condition to 
fall. After it hath fallen, it hath still all that belongs to its 
state and to its condition to repent. After the soul repents and 
arises, it hath again of God all that accords with itself, — not 
because he bestows trust or aught else thereupon, against the 
argument or probability of the foregoing fall and sin, but because 
at every instant the soul is known and judged as it is, and no 
blessing ever is given or withdrawn but in accord with the very 
truth of the condition of the soul. When a man forgives in this 
second sense of Forgiveness which now I speak of, namely, that 
he reposes again a trust once betrayed or disappointed, he does 
so in defiance of judgment, pushing aside the argument that it 
is unsafe, by force of his love, as I shall unfold in speaking of 
human forgiveness. But this is only finite reason, limited hori- 
zon of sight, human partiality. The coming of God to the soul 
is not in spite of some argument against it, or in defiance of 
judgment, but by every argument or fact for it and none gain- 



FOEGIVENESS. 55 

saying; for his coming is as the truth is and the soul is. There 
is no changeable relationship with God, " nor variableness nor 
shadow of turning," nor anything otherwise than as the whole 
truth is; nor comes he ever to the soul except as according to 
the condition of the soul. Before offense, and in it, and after 
it, forever, he must be with the soul at every moment simply as 
the soul is. For which reason, this part of forgiveness, namely, 
the resuming of a broken trust, has no part in divinity. 

If, now, God forgives not, nor can, in the first two parts of 
forgiveness, namely, the putting away of anger, and the resum- 
ing of a broken trust or confidence, the third part remains, 
which is the remission of penalty. It is one part of forgiveness 
to remit a penalty, though justly fixed. This part has the same 
sense as the word pardon: as a governor is said to pardon an 
offender under the law by remitting the penalty, or a part of it. 
But, now again, this third manner of forgiveness has no part in 
divinity, more than the other meanings foregoing; which is to be 
seen very plainly if we look closely at it. If a penalty be an 
invention, a device, an event or pass hinged to the offense by a 
statute, sequent but not consequent — then it may be suspended 
or remitted easily, for the same governor that affixed it may do 
it away. But if the penalty be not merely hung on the offense, 
but is of it, a very part of it, following from it, living in it, 
spreading from it like heat from a fire, then how is the penalty 
to be remitted? How done away or changed, unless the ill deed 
itself, from which the penalty springs as a fruit from its own 
tree, be undone? Now this is the manner of penalty or punish- 
ment from God; yet this is what the world never has under- 
stood. The prayers of the ages are for forgiveness, and still 
men are praying for the same, meaning escape from the doom 
and chastisement of God. The cry is, " Lord have mercy upon 
us, miserable offenders;" which means, " Save us from punish- 
ment and remove the penalty which we deserve." This is the 
manner of much prayer in the Bible. The Psalms, those very 
beautiful and most spiritual prayers and hymns, have some of 
this manner of praying for forgiveness. " Bemember not the 
sins of my youth, nor my transgressions:" they cry; " For thy 
name's sake, Lord, pardon mine iniquity." " Bemember not 
against us former iniquities:" " There is forgiveness with thee, 



56 FOEGIYENESS. 

that thou may'st be feared:" these are prayers that the penalty 
he turned aside; and the sad Psalm 109 shows mournfully the 
vengeful decrees and the punishments which God hurled on his 
enemies and his servants' enemies, in the mind of the Hebrew 
poet. But this is not the spirit of the Psalms. Little of such 
praying is there in this exalted collection of hymns. It is a 
treasury of jewels of hope and praise. " Why art thou cast 
down, my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? 
Hope thou in God, for I shall yet praise him who is the health 
of my countenance, and my God," — this is the tenor of the 
Psalms, this the song of their joy, this the exhortation of their 
hope and trust: " The Lord will command his loving kindness 
in the day-time and in the night his song shall be with me:" 
" Trust in him at all times ye people, pour out your hearts before 
him:" " Yea, the sparow hath found a house, and the swallow 
a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, even thine 
altars, Lord of hosts:" " Let the heavens rejoice and let the 
earth be glad, let the sea roar and the fulness thereof, let the 
field be joyful and all that is therein:" " Light is sown for the 
righteous and gladness for the upright in heart:" " Serve the 
Lord with gladness, come before his presence with singing; it is he 
that hath made us and not we ourselves ; we are his people and 
the sheep of his pasture :" " Bless the Lord, my soul, and for- 
get not all his benefits, who redeemeth thy life from destruction, 
who crowneth thee with loving kindness, and tender mercies:" 
" that men would praise the Lord for his goodness and for 
his wonderful works to the children of men:" " I know that the 
Lord will maintain the cause of the afflicted and the right of 
the poor:" " Cause me to hear thy loving-kindness in the morn- 
ing, for in thee do I trust; cause me to know the way wherein I 
should walk, for I lift up my soul unto thee:" these prayers are 
the spirifof the Psalms, these their thanksgivings and joy. Their 
faith and trust and upspring of joy, "new every morning and 
fresh every evening" are in these verses, and in such like that 
sprinkle the Psalms like stars in the heavenly sphere. 

Yet the prayers of the ages are for forgiveness, I say. From 
the beginning this prayer hath wound its hoop of iron around 
all golden and joyous vessels of praise and trust. For God was 
a sovereign on a throne, a lawgiver enacting statutes, a monarch 



FORGIVENESS. 57 

issuing commands, a contriver of plans, taking part in quarrels 
and battles, very jealous of honors due to him, very favorable 
to his own tribe or nation of people, but very fierce to their ene-. 
mies. This was the Hebrew Yahweh or Jehovah, as before I 
have said — holy, beneficient, sublime, yet after all no more than 
a very grand, powerful, mighty-scheming king, because the peo- 
ple had grown to no higher thought of God. They had a great 
sense of weakness, and the pressure on them of nature's power 
was very hard. On every side they were set on, thrown down, 
tossed about by battling elements which they could not under- 
stand; and on every side was tyranny and war, chieftains, des- 
pots, stiife, cruelty. From the earthly monarch and from roar- 
ing elements, fire, famine, plagues, floods, the ancient man 
shaped his thought of God. The Hebrew was but an ancient 
man, whose Yahweh was very sublime, holy, awful, but yet 
shaped in thought and conceived as among other ancient men, a 
king on a throne, with the strength of fire and of the shaking 
of the earth. Even the tender and joyful Psalms have this 
image in bold figures — "Hetoucheth the hills and they smoke:" 
" The waters saw thee, God the waters saw thee; they were 
afraid; the depths also were troubled; the clouds poured out 
water ; the skies sent out a sound ; thine arrows also went abroad ; 
the voice of thy thunder was in the heaven; the lightnings light- 
ened the world; the earth trembled and shook." What wonder 
that the prayers of the ages are for forgiveness, to escape the 
wrath of the monarch and to appease him, that he may lift off 
the doom, the penalty, of sins against him. Hence is seen sac- 
rifice in nearly all peoples and times. None so high nor so low 
but they sought to please God with gifts, with offerings of valu- 
able things, especially the finest kinds of food ; and the thought 
to offer the best, led to horrid forms of sacrifice. This was to 
purchase or attract forgiveness; I mean to escape penalty, to 
avert pain and punishment. 

This manner of thinking blooms and fruits plentifully in 
the Christian religion also, as that religion has been these many 
centuries, and still is ; nay, I would say it was so in the begin- 
ning, but that I find no trace of it in the words of Jesus. For 
although the words of that holy master, as reported to us in the 
first three gospels, where we have them the most unmixed, do 



58 FOEGIVENESS. 

contain the doctrines of hell and a devil and of punishment in 
such a dire place, yet we know not how much such words were 
turned awry or even altogether made by the mistake or obstin- 
ate education of the disciples; and although the words of Jesus 
do imply or express divine forgiveness as remission of penalty, — 
yet I find no trait of sacrifice therein, no taint of appeasing and 
winning over God by offerings and gifts. Yet soon it was so 
in the church, for Paul is quite full of the thought of sacrifice. 
He is very eloquent for it, because he looks on Christ's death 
as the one complete and perfect sacrifice which once for all and 
forever has availed with God and has done away with the old 
sacrfices and made them "beggarly elements." Down the cen- 
turies came the same notion, and lives to this day. Christianity 
took Yahweh for God. He is a monarch, ruler, maker of 
statutes and rules, in the Christian religion ; he affixes penalties, 
and may remit them. He is a great will, an absolute king, 
doing as he wills. We are in debt to him, or under condemna- 
tion, by the sin in us, by both our nature and our deeds. With 
this has gone the thought and the instruction which always con- 
sort with a Yahweh in religion, I mean sacrifice, offerings, gifts, 
smoking altars. The Eucharist in Christianity is such a sacri- 
fice, being the very sacrifice itself in the great Roman church, 
and a figure or picture of it in others. The atonement, which 
is Christ offered up as a sacrifice for us that we may be forgiven, 
is the greatest Christian distinction, or trait and mark of that 
religion, a glory to some, to others a moral bane. And the 
church has grown very rich by the same notion; for to give up 
wealth to the church has been accounted a sacrifice and gift- 
offering to God. 

Now all this hangs on the third part of forgiveness of 
which I speak, namely, that it is remission of penalty, and on 
the ascribing this part of forgiveness to divinty. The steps of 
thought are easy — 

1. God has enacted laws and affixed penalty. 

2. He who has affixed the penalty can remit it. 

3. Therefore we must placate him, and avail with him that 
he may remit it. 

This always has been so, anciently and until now, in every 
religion; in Christianity as boldly as in any. 



FOEGIVENESS. 59 

But now I say this manner of forgiveness, the remission of 
penalty, has no part in divinity, any more than the first 
meanings of forgiveness, to do away with anger and to take up 
again a broken trust. For when did the infinite wisdom live 
and move save in a holy and unchanging order in which naught 
is remitted? Or when did infinite mercy shrink from disciplin- 
ing? We are not under an enactment proclaimed from a throne 
or court, but under and in a sacred reign of order, which is in 
our very selves, and includes us, yet lives in us, and we are of it. 
We are answerable to God in us, not to rules set by him outside 
of us. We are held to account by an indwelling presence and 
inspiration of love and truth, the holy and infinite One whose 
justice is perfect order, " the nature of things;" not an act of will 
and decision, to meet this case or that offense, but an infinite per- 
fectness of Providence in which all is held, judged, sentenced, 
saved or doomed, opened unto life because it is good or sealed unto 
death because it is bad. Penalty is not a decree, but in the ill 
deed and with it and of it. The penalty so is ordered and falls 
always as to conform to the nature of the evil; not so much 
pain set by decree to so much fault, but a punishment that flows 
from the very evil itself and belongs just to that, metes out ex- 
act justice, lets fall just the peculiar penalty of that very deed 
with all the conditions of it, and runs as naturally from the 
guiltiness as a stream from a spring. How can this be remitted, 
being not arbitrary nor future, but now and by nature and as 
wide as the stretch or influence of the deed? How can this be 
remitted, which is inwoven with all things, is here and hereafter 
and forever, while the wrong lasts ? How can there be remission 
of this, save to remit all things to chaos, like as the remission of 
the running of a stream from its spring would shake all galaxies 
and tumble the heavens together? For if but a pearl of dew 
be unmodeled by gravitation, all is ruin. We know well that 
law is not an edict issued from a court in a celestial city, but 
the method and nature of life, and hence the same and uniform, 
with " no variableness, neither shadow of turning." In which 
law every act has its place and every offense its judgment at the 
instant. By this judgment falls the penalty, which is as inevit- 
able as the judgment, and not to be remitted nor turned aside, 
nor was it ever, since it is a part of the order which is eternal. 



60 FORGIVENESS. 

Who can escape this penalty? Nay, we must inflict it on 
ourselves: we must tear off our cloak, we must show our plague 
to the heavens; we can not cover it; we must testify. 

" In the corrupted currents of this world, 
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice ; 
And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself 
Buys out the law ; but 'tis not so above ; 
There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
In his true nature ; and we ourselves compelled, 
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
To give in evidence." 

The divine penalty could not be remitted without dispersing 
conscience, flung then like spots of light into the ruin of worlds. 
Hath not God put forgiveness into your own keeping by means of 
your conscience? — as if he said. " There it is abundantly, ay, at 
your very hand; but let me see you reach forth and take it, and 
salve it on your evils ! " You can not. Is not this unrelenting 
judgment an immediate penalty which you can not run from? 
'Tis thus that Satan cries out in Milton's Epic: 

" Me miserable ! Which way shall I fly 
Infinite wrath and infinite despair? 
Which way I fly is hell ; myself am hell ; 
And in the lowest deep a lower deep, 
Still threatening to devour me, opens wide, 
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven." - 



It is plain, then, that God forgives not in any of the three 
parts or meanings of human forgiveness; for he hath no anger 
to be done away; nor hath he any disappointed trust to be re- 
sumed; nor are there any penalties remitted by God. This 
now we shall see more fully and with more instruction still if 
we look closely at the penalties, to see what they are and what 
their nature is and how they fall upon us. 

First, there are many outward punishments for ill-doing, 
affixed, by nature or affinity, to the ill deed, and trailing 
after it as a snake's long body after its head. Such is the pun- 



FORGIVENESS. ( 61 

ishment for every kind of intemperance, unsoberness, excess; as 
in drink, in stimulants, " applying hot and rebellious liquors 
in our blood," opiates, all intoxicants ; and as in shamelessness, 
"with unbashful forehead," unhomed, in alien and unholy cham- 
bers. On unsoberness and shamelessness fall severe outward 
penalties, so severe that they seem the very causes of the 
momentary pleasures in the excesses ; for it were strange in 
nature if so heavy payments of penalty, so great losses, pur- 
chased naught. They do indeed buy pleasures, relishes, revels, 
baskings, tinglings, flushes; but only for a little; soon they can 
buy no more, soon only the long and hard penalties are left. 
For it is one of the outward punishments of intemperance and 
of " unbashful foreheads " that in no long time the power to take 
the pleasure is gone; it hath burned out, like a quick fire, scorch- 
ing without warming. The nerves become strained springs, 
that will not rebound. This is great penalty, for it has a double 
edge. It cuts off years of righteous and fine bodily enjoyments 
which Nature, with most kind love of life and exhilaration, far 
prolongs into sober manhood and hale age. That is the first 
edge. The other edge is secret shame, the disgust, the blur of 
life and feeling, the abasement, the sense of being branded by 
nature and put by as a thing half-dead and worn to naught in 
itself, however it keep a lying front to men's eyes. Another 
penalty is that the body is filled with diseases, weakness, totter- 
ings, often pain, always contemptibleness and decline, wretched 
debility. The fairness of health flees, the ugliness of malady 
comes forth, paleness or vile red or colors like dead leaves, 
shrinkings of face and form, blotches and sores, and a hang-dog 
look in the face. Thus does angry Nature sprinkle wrath as from 
a sieve on debauchery. Another outward penalty is the contempt 
of good men, the abhoring pity or the plain disgust, the loss of 
trust and good fame, which fall on shamelessness and drunken- 
ness, as is meet. 

Anger, ill-nature, selfishness, dishonesty, are evils that 
bring outward penalties. They model ugliness in the face, like 
imps sculpturing. Anger has the horrid face of madness, of a 
maniac, " a cruel tempest of the mind, making the eyes sparkle 
fire and stare, teeth gnash in the head, the tongue stutter, the 
face pale or red," white as a wall, or bloated, purple, seeming 



62 FORGIVENESS. 

like to burst with the blood that presses forth every coarseness 
of the skin; and if the anger be raging and be very frequent, 
then it may be said they turn mad indeed, for the effects are 
long and increase, and pile on one another. " From a disposi- 
tion they proceed to a habit; for there is no difference between 
a mad man and an angry man, in the time of his fit." Ill- 
nature, which has many forms, moroseness, sullenness, harsh- 
ness, unpitifulness, unsociable retirement, sternness, has an 
ugliness of its own which it cuts into the face, and that quickly ; 
for such disposition is a steady engraver, not like anger working 
by fits and gusts, but close at its chiseling every moment. What 
hideous lines are cut in the face thereby, we may see the 
better by contrast with the beauty which a frank good nature and 
pleasant kindness carve in the countenance. Note the beauty 
of cheerful and humane faces; observe the ease and motion 
of the mouth and its sweet curves where tenderness is; take 
count of the smooth and even brow where frowns have 
been strangers; behold the twinkle of the eye by a habit of 
genial humor ; and with these there are very many habits of the 
muscles to which good will, bounty of kindness, fellow-feefing, 
have pulled them, setting and stringing them so much to such 
notes that they become tuned and shaped to them, and keep a 
harmony in the face. How beautiful are such countenances! 
What a light in them! They beam with fair emotions. They 
are frank, open, celestial. By this we may see how ugly is the 
opposite thereof, by noting what great beauty is lost. It were 
enough if the fairness were gone; but when angels fly, imps 
come; I mean, ugly lines seize the seats of the graces with 
churlishness, sullenness, ungraciousness, ungentleness, rough, 
gruff, sour, surly, hard nature. The sweet openness is gone, 
the face is shut like a wall. The open face was like light; the 
shutting down of the brow is like a darkness. The face no 
longer is ease and motion of mouth, chin, cheek, temple, but a 
masonry. Vile furrows are frozen on it. The eye has no 
merry beams, no sportive lights, but either is a cold stare or a 
dark ambush or a mockery of smiling. A hard unfavored cast, 
stiff lines, expression forbidding, unwelcoming, unkind, ugly 
shapes of mouth, whether set, rigid, or moving and changing, 
a harsh or a lurking look, either bold or stealthy, — these are the 



FORGIVENESS. 63 

outward penalties of bitterness of spirit, of morose and cold 
heart. With these there is another punishment, namely, a loss 
of strength and health. For it is not possible that the body 
should be as sound and firm, the nerves as orderly, the digestion 
as good, with sullen and bitter passions and harsh emotions as 
with genial and sunny feelings, sweet content and good will. 
Wherefore a body racked with harsh passions, though it may be 
strong for a season, yet breaks and loosens at last, so that old 
age is a wretched and tottering time of life; and this is a 
punishment of these malign, disobliging, unfriendly dispositions, 
that they shake and grow weak in age, and when most they 
need a fire in the heart against the frosts of time, they have but 
ashes. 

Selfishness, however quiet and cool it may be, and however 
hiding under smiles and manners, though not branded in the 
face with a hot iron, as by the fierce or morose passions is done, 
is scored and scarred over the face with a cold blade. A 
pinched, sharp and mean face, where avarice and a grasping 
fury have cut marks and edged the features, or a stolid and sordid 
masonry of selfish flesh, — these are hideous sights, outward pun- 
ishments, which are plain disfigurements, scars and disgraces for 
any eye to see. 

Dishonesty, no less, has its external defacements and ugly 
marks. I have heard there is even a thievish hand- writing 
which may be known. However that be, sure it is there is a 
thievish face. Double dealing is written in the features. Jug- 
gling, cheating, defrauding, forgery, perjury, quackery, have coun- 
tenances of their own, blemished, defective, flawed in some man- 
ner. Even though simple and trustful souls be misled by feat- 
ures shapely and well matched, they will be duped not long, 
decoyed but a little ; soon they will know that matched features 
may be as ugly as sin and shame and lies. 

So it is that anger, ill-nature, selfishness, fraud, have heavy 
penalties sentenced on them and executed in the body before all 
men's eyes, each vice its own mark of ugliness, its own deface- 
ment. But they have in common another outward penalty, 
which is the aversion and contempt of good men ; and since it is 
true, to our joy and grace, that the well-meaning abound and 
exceed, this is the same as to say the contempt and dislike of 



64 FORGIVENESS. 

mankind. And this is no little punishment; as appears plainly 
from the effort of the unkind to obtain kindness for themselves, 
the endeavor of the untrustworthy to be trusted, of the cold and 
hard to be loved and cherished, and of all the fraudulent to at- 
tract friendship and favor, for it is only on this that they can 
thrive in their frauds and evils; and however one be hardened, 
'tis more than easily he can bear to see his fellows look askance at 
him and give him wide room, despising or disliking him. There- 
fore there are none so clamorous for love as the unlovely, and 
none so jealous as the unfaithful. But it is in vain. This is 
the penalty which is builded around the harsh or the false like a 
wall. They walk at large, but they are walled from their fel- 
low men; they can not have the precious and sweet things of 
human love. 

Another form of outward penalty is the injury inflicted on 
others. This often is a very heavy penalty and weighs down 
the soul for life. For one must be very hardened indeed, 
and full of crime, or be dipped deep in the dark self-love 
from which crimes glide like serpents from a pit, to care naught 
whether he injure others or not. This is rare among sins 
and sinners. The common wrongs are evils of passions, deeds 
of anger, hatred, avarice, ambition, base ills of appetitites bold 
and slavish too. Other persons are sacrificed to the rage and de- 
lirium; sometimes wilfully and viciously, yet the dreadful and wild 
gust drives the spirit, with no main wish to do anyone a harm, 
but sacrificing another furiously or basely at the moment; some- 
times only recklessly, heedlessly, in pursuit of vehement desires, 
ambitions, which mean not to be cruel or criminal, but madden 
and ravish the victim till he is blind and deaf to the ills he does 
others, neither sees them nor hears when he is told of them, 
but drives furiously at his object, trampling, agonizing, maim- 
ing, killing, as he goes. Such are the deeds of those who pursue 
wealth either by slow, cold, hard, grinding or cunning methods, 
which "wring from the hard hands of laborers their vile trash by 
indirection ;" or by desperate and vaulting schemes, to make a 
scarcity by thievish "cornering," to flood the market by a sudden 
torrent, to disturb the just currents of trade till all be a sea of 
angry waves, wrecking and rending whomsoever is caught in 
them; buying and selling what is not owned, no, nor even exists, 



FORGIVENESS. 65 

fictions by which robbery is done and disorders hurled into busi- 
ness and into industries, by which a few snatch spoil like booty 
from a wreck, and many go down. These are vultures that 
prey on the dead; but, worse than the carrion-feeding birds, they 
kill first those whom they devour. These spread ruin and 
loss, anguish, despair, madness, confusion, hunger and poverty 
and waste. They are traffickers in human flesh as much as 
any Mohammedan slave-trader. They are pirates, foes of all 
men, under a black flag of private war. They are traitors to 
their country. They are enemies of honesty, soberness, justice, 
peace. I will call things by their plain names. I will not 
call a villain an honest man because his villainy is big or pop- 
ular. I will not call a man the less, no, but the more a foot-pad, 
because he robs not one or two but ten thousand. Theodore 
Parker said that he found not much difference between men save 
in bulk. The main qualities are the same. The great merchant 
saith he, with his great warehouses full of goods and his vast 
affairs, is only a big huckster; the huckster with his small 
stock of fruit on a corner stand, is a little merchant. Shall a 
man be called a thief if he pick my pocket of my purse, a " fine 
worker " if he steal ballots, yet a financier if he rob all the peo- 
ple of substance and bread? To like bad deeds let the same 
bad name be given, and the bigger the deed, the plainer the 
name. If wilfully a man disturb the market, 'tis like getting up 
a storm at sea if that were possible, by which his strong vessel 
might get first to port, whatever wrecks might be caused or how- 
ever piled the sea with cargoes and bodies. Would not that be 
called robbery on the high seas, piracy in foul, horrible, diabolical 
manner? Is it any better when trade storms are made on the land? 
If a man derange the just tide of business and bring in havoc 
and void struggle by an artificial scarcity planned and produced 
by him, by which he gathers because a hundred lose, sailing 
flushed and first into port because a hundred founder, I say that 
is roguery, knavery, thievery, and ought to be felony. 

It is the outward penalty of such deeds, and of even baser 
desires still which tread down others, that they spread wide and 
wretched pain, incurable injury. Sometime the thieves, the 
panders, the seducers, will awaken to know the suffering and 



66 FOEGIVENESS. 

wretchedness which they have caused. I know not how or where 
or when; but sometime they will. The little robber sees just 
whom he spoils, just whose bread he steals. Sometime the 
big robber will see whose home he made a havoc, whose bread 
he snatched; and base rakes, gallants, deceivers, forsakers, will 
know the horror, despair and ruin which they brought on 
souls too trustful and loving. When the sight shall come, 
when the eye shall open to see and know, when the wild 
fury or greed or ambition, shall be gone, and the blight, the 
misery, the death shall remain, like charred ruins in the track 
of war, what think you of the penalty then, the horror and re- 
morse from such a sight? 'Tis a terrific punishment, this one 
among God's outward penalties, that we can not stop an injury, 
that we can see no end of it, that it may widen like waves in 
water till it bring infection or violence, destruction, pain, to far 
foreign coasts, we know not where; but sometime we may know, 
'tis like we shall, and see here and there the spot and bale of 
our fury, greed or vice. 

" When a man, by avarice or ambition or loose desires 
commits a huge and heinous crime, after which, the thirst and 
rage of his passion being allayed, he comes to set before his eyes 
the shameful and horrid passions still staying by him, tending to 
injustice, but sees naught useful, naught necessary, naught tend- 
ing to make his life happy, may it not be thought that such a one 
often is made to consider, by these reflections, how rashly for the 
sake of vain glory or of a lawless and barren pleasure, he has over- 
thrown the noblest and greatest maxims of justice among men 
and overflowed his life with shame and trouble? * * * I 
believe there is no need either for gods or men to inflict their 
punishments on the most wicked and sacrilegious offender; see- 
ing that the course of their own lives is sufficient to chastise 
their crimes, while they remain under the consternations and 
torments attending impiety."* 

So it is with the outward penalties of ill deeds, punishments 
wrought in the body or in our social relations. Turn now 
to the penalties that are inward, executed in the mind, turn to 
these, that by near view of them, as we have had of the out- 
ward penalties, we may know their nature and see whether they 
can be escaped or will be remitted. 

* Plutarch, on " The Delay of Divine Punishment ;" Goodwin's Translation. 



FOEGIVENESS. 67 

First among these inward penalties is the wrong itself. 
The worst penalty of sin is to be the sinner. For if the bad 
life, the denied deed, be known to the soul to be bad and vile, 
then surely the most loathsome thing is to be what we know to 
be loathsome; not, I mean to suffer shame or remorse or what 
pangs soever for it, but just to be it) this is a terrible penalty. 
But if the soul be not conscious of the vice of its deed, the stain, 
blot, reproach of its life, this seems even worse than the brand 
of its knowledge of the ill, for then the soul is like swine wallow- 
ing in filthy sloughs not knowing them to be filth, or like a slave 
too mean to feel his slavery. Whichever way it be with the 
soul, whether knowing or not knowing its abasement, the blot 
is a sight to draw pangs of pity from the just and the true, such 
pity as to receive is ignominy and to feel is heart-sickening, such 
commiseration as can not be offered to the torments of a saint 
martyred. Oh! to be evil is the worst penalty of evil — as Soc- 
rates told his judges, saying that they could not doom him to 
anything so dreadful as their injustice was unto themselves. 

Another inward punishment is remorse, shame, self-con- 
viction, stings of conscience. This terrible pursuit of a man by 
himself is fearful penalty. For what escape is there, even for a 
moment of rest, when the criminal, the court, the executioner 
are all one, and the criminal forever is doing the crime in mem- 
ory and the court always seated and the executioner always at the 
rack. 'Tis as Plutarch says, that the whole man is up and 
armed against that part which did ill ; " for reason," says 
Plutarch* " that very power which chaseth away all other pains, 
is that which creates repentence, shames the soul with confusion 
and punisheth it with torment." 

Think first how severe the penalty is, how bitter the anguish 
of remorse. For it has a twofold bitterness, one part wholly 
from ourselves and one part from other men, The bitterness 
which is from ourselves is dire and unceasing. You may escape 
a little by drowning yourself in the wild whirls of pleasures or 
strifes or business; but 'tis but a moment's escape. You are a 
runaway; you can be free only by running, yet you can not run 
always. Let but a moment's quiet come, it is the rack again. 
Or you can be free of the torment of light and air by plunging 

* " Of the Tranquility of the Mind," 



68 FOEGIVENESS. 

again under the sea of the had deeds. " For who ever saw" 
(saith Chrysostom) '' a covetous man troubled in mind when he 
was telling his money, or a libertine mourn in his gallantry? 
We are drunk with pleasure and perceive nothing." But this 
renews the torture with the offense ; when the rage is over, there 
again is thyself scorning thyself and tormenting thee. " As 
the statue of Juno in that holy city near Euphrates, in Assyria, 
will look still toward you, sit where you will in her temple, 
she stares full upon you if you go by, she follows with her 
eye, — in all sites, places, conventicles, actions, our conscience 
will be still ready to accuse us."* What pain is like unto it, 
either so dreadful or so incessant? For it has not one pallia- 
tion, not one soft or sweet portion like the pangs of pure love 
and loss, and never ceases but while we are benumbed with new 
debaucheries. 

That part of the bitterness of remorse which comes from 
other men is a severe part, giving us very sharp shame. It is 
the thievish meanness we feel when we receive credit, trust, love, 
from men, knowing they would not give it us, no, nor we think 
to claim, if they knew our ill deeds. By so much as there is 
honor left in us, it is a consuming wretchedness, a base shame 
to us to be praised, and adorned with credit, while we know 
that to take it is thievish and to refuse it impossible without con- 
fession and disgrace. What a base position is this ! What a 
dreadful penalty, to know ourselves frauds, impostures! To 
look into kind eyes brimming with love, trust, honor, good- 
ness, to be seated high, to be made room for, to be called for 
counsel, to be commended from man to man, and the more the 
love, trust and honor, the more thief and liar we! Oh! the 
praise and confidence of men makes a crushing part of the pen- 
alty of remorse within us; and not to be escaped more than the 
others, for it is repeated at every corner, renewed with every 
greeting, smile, hand-clasp. 

What a sad and sincere punishment, what dire penalty is 
this inward sentence, whereby not only our own evil pursues 
us with hissing, snaky tresses, but even the kind simpleness 
and good offices of others turn to furies to follow us! 

Another inward punishment is memory. This wonderful 

* Burton's Anatomy. 



FORGIVENESS. 69 

continuance in us almost is as if we did the ill-deed over and 
over every day or every hour. Therefore even if we be callous 
and our remorse light, memory makes it heavy by the many 
blows of it, the continual strokes. And if we be cunning to 
shake off pangs and regrets awhile, exercising ourselves and 
disporting in gaieties, frolics, or even in luxuries and revels, as 
if to kill one evil deed with others, memory will not permit it, 
but takes in hand to overcome us. So that if we sha.ke off our re- 
morse, it is but as if we whisk dust from us against the wind, 
to be blown in our faces again, or flap it from us in a room 
where we must stay, and it settles on us again. Memory sifts 
nothing, chooses naught, but stores up all impartially, the ill 
and shameful as well and as fast as the noble and honorable. 
Were it not a sad punishment if we were made to carry a book 
about with us and read in it at every pause or seat by the way- 
side, and every page had such a mixture that we could not read 
three or four sentences without some ugliness disturbing us — 
were not this a hard book to carry and a great penalty? Yet 
such a book is memory, if we have written bad deeds in it. 
Therefore if a man do ill, if he defile himself and others, if he 
rage and inflict injury, he stores it all up in himself. The re- 
morse may grow less bitter with time, or with penitence, but the 
knowledge always will be there like a turbulent creature loosely 
tied, and will spring at us very often. Nay, unless a man be 
very proud and vain and boastful in mind, memory will torment 
him more with his bad deeds than comfort him with his good, 
and bring them up to his sight more often ; for he will feel that 
the good is no more than is to be looked for from him, no more 
than he ought to do quietly and unpraised, no more than like the 
natural decency of his face that it should be clean ; but the bad 
deed will stare at him like a shame, not to be expected of him, 
against the honor of his being, unnatural, deformed. Mem- 
ory has this terror too, that it opens and sets loose its hordes on 
the slightest occasion. The least little incident, a sound, a 
color, a shape, word, motion, gesture, place, will shake mem- 
ory open. It is at the mercy of every chance association. 
Nay, if the evil deed be a heavy crime, base or cruel, every- 
thing turns to occasion to start a fear, to call up the affrighting 
images. All sounds are tongues that speak our secret aloud, 



70 FORGIVENESS. 

all things seem sign-boards that direct to us, every event turns 
our eyes fearfully on ourselves. The story of Bessus is familiar 
in Plutarch, that " he killed his own father, and the murder lay 
concealed for a long time. At length being invited to supper 
among strangers, after he had so loosened a swallow's nest 
with his spear that it fell down, he killed all the young ones. 
Upon which, being asked by the guests that were present what 
injury the swallows had done him that he should commit such 
an irregular act, ' Did you not hear,' said he, ' these cursed swal- 
lows, how they clamored and made a noise, false witnesses as 
they were, that I had long ago killed my father?'" Another 
legend he tells, of one Pausanias, which is a strange and deli- 
cate instruction that this punishment of memory never stops its 
stripes till we die. Pausanias commanded a free-born maid, 
Cleonice, to be brought to him, with unmanly intent; but when 
she was brought he was seized with a sudden strange jealousy 
or mania, and stabbed her. After that murder, the maid never 
ceased to appear to him in frightful visions. At last haunted 
and distraught, " he sailed to the oracle of the dead at Heraclea, 
and by propitiations, charms and dirges, called up the ghost of 
the damsel; which appearing before him told him in few words 
that he should be free from all his affrights and molestations 
upon his return to Lacedaemon, where he was no sooner arrived, 
but he died." Thus he was free only in his death. 

But what if he died not, only his body? Does memory 
drop with the body, like fruit felled with a tree? Memory is of 
the soul — must we not think so ? The sad ghost promised too 
much ; for if she could remember her death, why not he the in- 
fliction of it? We can not look with too bold or vainglorious eye 
into that other chamber of life, for though it be the very next 
room and close to us, yet it may have colors and forms and 
manners that we know not here, nor can dream of till they come 
to experience. Yet I dare think — as who must not? — that 
memory is not of that ''mortal coil" to be "shuffled off " from 
us. by our going thither. Bather would I say with the poet, 
that no punishment may be more fearful or more possible 
than the sudden perfecting of memory. And this Plutarch 
thought, for he adds to the story of Pausanias that if indeed 
naught befall the soul after the body's dying, but death is the end 



FORGIVENESS. 71 

of all effect and punishment of evil, then indeed we might think 
the Deity remiss in too swiftly punishing the wicked by bringing 
them to death so soon. But God neither delays nor too briefly 
punishes. For the effect and penalty must continue and follow 
the soul here in this earthly manner of life, and whithersoever 
or howsoever we go to live afterward; and the penalty begins 
instantly, being " of the same age with the bad deed and arising 
from the same place and root;" and " wickedness, at the same 
time it is committed, engendering its own vexation and torment, 
not at last, but at the very instant of the injury offered, suffers 
the reward of the injustice it has done." 

But not only does memory open thus and let loose its 
plagues, at every slight shake, every little blow of occasion, but 
it swings at the touch of mere happiness. I have noted that 
pangs of memory and moral regrets start up in happy hours and 
blithe scenes, by the suggestion of contrast. By the bright and the 
cheerful, the sweet and beautiful, we are led to the dark and the 
unlovely which, having been done by us, have hung a chamber of 
memory with black. Strange that the very brightness of a hall 
of fair frolic, of gentle sport and kindly pleasure, should drive 
us to take a candle from the tables and go peer into that room 
of black hangings ! But so it is. So doth the very hand of 
innocence unlock the cage of guilt, and jocund happiness step 
on tip-toe to whisper a shame to us. And not only the strange 
suggestion by contrast, but a kind of moral judgment suddenly 
arrests us, I have noted, and hurries us helplessly to that cell of 
memory. We feel suddenly that we have no right to this blithe 
cheer, this light of lively joyfulness* which beams around us. It 
is too much. It opens memory and the sad shapes fly out at us. 
By the very happiness of happy hours they are let loose, by suc- 
cesses, congratulations, praise, power, because of our ill desert of 
these pleasures. In this I speak not to you any fancy any theory 
invention, supposition, but a simple observation. I say not 
perhaps, or it may be so; but I say it is so, because I have 
noted it in myself, and I am sure moral experience has a com- 
mon nature in us. I have noted that if I have been unkind, 
cruel, selfish, or unfaithful in aught, the memory of it is started 
forth by happy and bright scenes and I reflect on the unlike- 
ness and unfitness of my deeds to the beams, the songs, the re 
joic.ings, and how little right I have to the jocund consolations 



72 FOEGIVENESS. 

Another inward penalty is the fear of discovery. Memory 
brings us to shame before ourselves; but there is also a shame 
before others to be feared. Memory is the bad in us ashamed 
before the good in us. And for this, all the good around us 
helps the good within us; for I am very sure that the evil 
around us comforts us in our own evil not so much as the good 
and noble things around us judge and condemn us. Therefore 
if there be evil deeds in our memory, we fear the good around us, 
and live in terror of being discovered to them, and having our 
evil shown forth. Oh, it is a noisome pit, this fear of discovery, 
full of crawling, craven, base terrors. To be cast into it is 
poison and torment. Yet who can avoid it who has done evil? 
For there is no one but fears his fellow men. 

It is another inward penalty of ill-doing that by it we suffer 
a dulling of the spiritual nature, a loss of pure knowing and 
of joyful seeing. Wickedness is an injury of the mind. This 
must be so, for the mind is made for good; wherefore to turn it 
to evil is abuse and injury. Whatever the wickedness be, it 
injures the mind. Whether the wickedness be great crimes, or 
unearnest careless living, or wanton rioting, or low, mean and 
selfish motives, 'tis an injury of the mind. Each kind of vile- 
ness or baseness has its own hurtfulness, but all injure. Now 
what is an injury? It is whatever effect done on an object 
hinders it from fulfilling its natural purpose and from acting use- 
fully according to its organs and structure. Thus, if the body 
be injured in any part, that part is hindered from doing 
its service in the bodily activity, and very often the whole body 
is impaired by the injury of a part, so that for a time, or per- 
haps forever, no function is quite sound and no part of the body 
can serve as its wont was, and if the injury be great enough, the 
body is stopped altogether, which is death. In like manner, 
wickedness, being an injury of the mind, hinders the soul from put- 
ting forth itself. The mind's action is impaired. But here 
comes to view a great difference between spiritual and bodily 
injury. The body is made of parts, but the soul or mind is one. 
Therefore the soul can not be injured in a part and yet be un- 
hindered in other parts, as the body can. For the mind has not 
one part or organ that thinks, another part that wills, another 
that perceives, or that loves, and so following, but the whole 



FORGIVENESS. 73 

man acts in reasoning, and in loving, in willing, in perceiving, 
and in all things whatsoever that the mind does ; the whole man 
acts in each and the soul is one and undivided in every action. 
Therefore wickedness, the injury of the soul, is like in the soul to 
a very had injury in the body, which hurts not only a part but the 
whole body; and any wickedness, though there be degrees, and 
some kinds tear and harm the mind more than others do, yet 
any wickedness, I say, is as spoiling in the soul as only a very 
bad injury is in the body, because it harms the whole mind and 
hinders its forth-putting in every way. 

Thus it is that dulling of spiritual life, waning of the 
mind's being, is an inward penalty of ill living. The bad, ill- 
living man, whether he be wicked in rioting or in greediness or 
in fell selfishness or in fraud, or in low and mean motives 
whatsoever, — such a one, I say, can not make any of the mind's 
motions freely and according to its natural grace or valor, but 
in his soul is like to a body wasted in every part by some cen- 
tral injury or drawn awry everywhere by rheumatic poison. He 
can not love mightily, tenderly and purely; mayhap he will 
think a jealous passion to be love. Is not this a great penalty? 
He can not have intelligence at its best; he will not know things 
as they are; he will see them awry misplaced, mis-combined; 
how can he look from a center? how can he behold order and 
certainty? or how understand life or know himself or discern 
the garden of the world and God walking in it? Is not this a 
sad quittance? He grows weaker in will with every stab of 
evil; if he be stubborn, he is not strong, if he yield to-day, the 
more easily to-morrow; he drifts and is blown about; he knows 
his own weakness ; what if he covers it by boasts and nonchalance 
— he is eaten by the shame of the sense of it, he can not be a 
firm, strong, heroic, determining, manly-walking man. Is not 
this a severe redress? The ill-living man can not enjoy beauty 
delicately, exquisitely, with a sweet and high ecstasy. If fair 
forms delight him being evil, they would bless him indeed if he 
were good ; he misses the fullness of them ; beauty but brushes 
or fans him with pleasure, when it might nourish him and fill 
him with earnest joy. Wantonness can see but the back of 
beauty, for every loveliness faces away from the wanton. In the 
fresh morning, mid songs of dawn and twilight, the glory of the 



74 FORGIVENESS. 

ocean, the grandeur of the mountains, the varied patterns of 
of colors, fields, roadways, rivers, — the unsimple and sordid 
mind will see little of the overflow of beauty, and naught of it in 
its fullness. Is not this a heavy amercement? But there is a 
beauty finer than land or sea, to which the wanton man, the 
unjust, the selfish, still more is blind. He can not enjoy moral 
loveliness; the tender graces or the high glories of character 
are hidden from him. In three ways he misses of this great 
and heavenly beauty, threefold blind is he to this loveliness of 
nature, the graces, beauties, sublimities of the souls about us, 
charms and glories so cheering, comforting, blessing, strength- 
ening, — in three ways blind to it and shut out from it. First, 
he will not see the good; he will walk past the most angelic 
faithfulness, past a sweetness like dew, or truthfulness like 
heaven, or love like sunshine, and know it not. For he will not 
look much at such beauty, nor have the humility and unselfish- 
ness which admires and delights in the graces of souls; nor if 
he should look at it, could he see it well, for he can see but as 
he tinges all things with the humors of his eye. But — in the 
second way — he is shut off from seeing spiritual beauty, because 
not only he sees the good less but he sees the bad more. He 
has eyes sharpened for all defects and ugliness, for blemishes, 
spots and flaws; -he can not pass by an ill nature in happy 
ignorance. How blest are they who see not evil! What a 
source of joy not to have eyes for the means of wretchedness! 
How blissful the mind that gathers good flowers and sweet fruits 
so intently with so natural observation of them, that it goes 
clear of the poisons, not by avoiding them but by seeing them 
not! But the sordid or wanton have eyes for every nightshade 
and baneberry; they will find every deformity, as if it were 
their prey, and had a strong smell to them; they are swift crows 
to swoop on offal. To them there is an over- spread of ugliness 
on nature and man, and beauty is gone, because they see so lit- 
tle of the good and all the bad, and their sight runs to the 
hideous things. But — in the third way — they are blind to 
moral loveliness, because not only they see good little and bad 
much, but they change the good into the bad. What good they 
see they call evil. They ascribe bad motives, they are full of 
suspicion, they believe not in simple virtue, but think love and 



FORGIVENESS. 75 

kindness are shows put on for ends; every generous thing they 
translate into a selfishness, and "interpret all to the worst." 
The greedy or the base are sure to do this in exact measure with 
their own evil; for they will not bear to think others better 
than themselves, but make all into their own likeness, sordid or 
wanton. What a stark and dreadful triple blindness is this, — 
not to see the good, and to gaze at the bad when the good is by, 
and to make the bad still more by translating the good into it! 
Is not this a bitter scourging, a ruinous forfeit, a woful punish- 
ment? 

Such are the divine punishments for sins; not invented and 
affixed to the bad deed by a sentence or decree, as if the penalty 
might be otherwise by decree, or the punishment of one wicked- 
ness be changed about to become the penalty of another; not 
so, but springing from the ill deed* and belonging to it, not to be 
parted from it, and a very portion of it, so that the evil can not 
be done but instantly its penalty begins. Now, these penalties 
I have set forth that we may judge and see clearly whether pen- 
alty ever is remitted by the Eternal Father. By looking at the 
punishments, is it not plain that none ever is passed over or 
turned aside? — that God never stays or bars a bad deed from 
shooting instantly into the effect which is its punishment; nor 
could he, without shaking all the connections of things till the 
stars should drop like tears into a basin of ruin — is this not 
plain to us? Can the furrows and the expressions, the red and 
the pale, the tremblings and staggers of " unbashful foreheads " 
and wanton feet, of drunkeness, fury, fraud, — can these be re- 
mitted? Can these be clogged and bidden go back, while the 
sins go forward? Can the contempt and aversion of men be 
remitted? Can the injury, woe, heartache, shame, which the 
ill deed has wrought on others, be fended away, and yet the 
deed flaunt on? Can secret remorse or the shame of receiving 
honor and trust unmerited, or the haunting ghosts of memory 
or the craven fear of discovery, be remitted? Can these be lop- 
ped off the wickedness, as if > limbs of it, whereas they are in 
the heart of it? Or can the dulling of spiritual faculty, the 
darkening of reason and the clouding of beauty, be remitted, as 
if wickednes were made no injury or injury no enfeeblement? 
Can this be? Were this the order and the presence of God 



?6 FOKGIVENES&. 

which "hath no variableness neither shadow of turning? " 
Surely, when we look on the penalties of God, we see plainly 
and solemnly tbat they are never raised nor stayed ; but they go 
with the wickedness and are in the heart of it, so that to think 
of the remission of them is to think of the wickedness as ex- 
isting without the very heart and nature of the wickedness. 

But now, I say that as no penalty is remitted, so we ought 
not to wish it to be remitted. Nay, if we will think of it like 
men, we can not wish to escape any penalty of God which we 
have incurred. Often it is no dishonor to wish to escape the 
punishments of men; for these are but arbitrary and invented, 
without natural consequence, often devised in wrath, inflicted 
unjustly, untempered with the exact inward truth of our faulti- 
ness, our struggle and fall. But who, if he have just manhood, 
can wish to escape from God? No, we can not desire remission 
of divine penalty. It were unmanly. There were no dignity in 
it. It were slavish, shambling, beggarly. But it were worse 
than these shames; it were impious, and bold against eternal 
order and beauty. The penalty is in the infinite order of 
God. It is a religious fact of Providence. It links with the 
planets and the fixed stars, travels with the sun, floods with the 
ocean. It is fixed and wrought in all this majestic system, this 
infinite glory, which moves so silently and perfectly, — the 
eternal beauty of God. It is in the heart of all truth, all sin- 
cerity, love, and whatever is of the eternal moral order. Would 
you wish it away? Dare you touch it, save with the soul's 
worship? Dare you edge amendment into the solemn and di- 
vine order? " Gird up now thy loins like a man, for I will de- 
mand of thee, and answer thou me. Where wast thou when He 
laid the foundations of the earth? Declare, if thou hast under- 
standing. Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest? 
or who hath stretched the line upon it? Whereupon are the 
foundations thereof fastened? or who laid the corner-stone thereof , 
when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God 
shouted for joy? * * * Hast thou commanded the morning 
since thy days, and caused the day-spring to know his place, that 
it might take hold of the ends of the earth, that the wicked might 
be shaken out of it? " Nay, you will know it is impious to lay 
he hand of a fro ward wish on this holy order. You will not 



FORGIVENESS. 77 

dare flee from that order, nor from any penalty therein, which 
is the entemal being of God made visible. 

To this point, now, we have come by reasoning of forgive- 
ness and by looking on divine penalties, — to this point, that there 
is no forgiveness with God as man forgives, because no one of the 
three portions of human forgiveness has any part in God ; for 
neither hath he anger to be put away, nor hath he a disap- 
pointed trust to be ventured again, nor is his perfection of law 
ever turned aside to remit a penalty. But what then of our 
text, "Forgive us our sins?" What meaning has it? What is 
the forgiveness of God? This now we must answer. For not 
meaningless are all these cries and prayers of the ages. As I 
said in setting out on this subject, there must be some good true 
thought in the words, " God's forgiveness ;" because the cry is 
universal and has persevered from the beginning. What 
human struggle is altogether hollow and unmeaning? For 
all striving and anguish of soul, and forms of words therefrom, 
are minglings of the rudeness of man's state at the moment with 
the spiritual ideal in him of what he must become. Therefore 
if there be little that is wholly truth, there is nothing that wholly 
is error. 

Now, we shall know what the forgiveness of God is if we 
consider what has happened when we are in darkness and evil. 
For if a man see not the sun, there might be either of two reas- 
ons for it ; one, that the sun had withdrawn from the heavens ; 
the other, that the man had turned him from the sun. If, 
therefore, we be in darkness and sin, what has happened? Hath 
God turned from us or have we turned from him? Surely it is 
we who have turned away from him. This shows us what the 
forgiveness of God is. It is his everlasting, unfailing, unless- 
ened mercy, the fact, not that again he has turned toward us, 
but that never he was turned away, never estranged. With fin- 
ite man forgiveness is so imperfect that it is but the healing, as 
much as may be, of some soreness of mind, an aversion, a heart- 
burning, grudge, separation ; and only as much as may be, I say, 
— which seldom is wholly. A friend wrote me, " We may cement 
broken confidence, but the crack is always there, the charm 
has vanished, the happy bird-like spring and song are gone; we 
pull up a lumbering ladder on which to try to climb." So im- 



78 FOEGIVENESS. 

perfect is human forgiveness. But the forgiveness of the Eternal, 
the perfect forgiveness, is this, that never he was alienated, 
never for a moment, never parted from us, never provoked. 

The forgiveness of God is a pursuing love, never tired, 
never uncertain, unsteadfast, backward or unresolved, always 
perfect, present, unswerved. Look at all things. See how pity- 
ingly events are ordered for our weakness; how they stoop to us 
when we fall ; how tenderly the order of God takes up his child- 
ren and leads them; how the flowers spring up before and be- 
hind, and love shines on the path. What helps, what incite- 
ments, invitations! What warnings, admonitions, exhortations! 
How our wanderings are followed by calls and penalties inward 
and outward, till we turn again to the light which never was 
turned from us ! Look at these things till we know the forgive- 
ness of God, the eternal forgiveness, and learn that never his 
face was averted, but ours was turned away. 

When Paul says, u We know that all things work together 
for good to them that love God," I say, Yes, and to them that 
love him not. For there is one good for me, in whatsoever state 
of soul I be, and another good for thee, my neighbor, in thy 
condition of spirit whatsoever; and what is good for me is not 
mislaid on thee nor thy good on me, but each receives his own 
discipline • and all things work together for good to all. "Look," 
cries the ancient singer, " Look at the generations of old and 
see! Lid ever any trust in the Lord and was confounded? "* 
Indeed not one. No, not a soul. For though the outward man 
perish, or power and possessions melt away like snow, he hath 
" a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." " Did 
any," continues the singer, " abide in his fear, and was for- 
saken? Or whom did he ever despise that called upon him?" 
None, indeed ; nor was any forsaken that abode not in his fear, 
nor ever any despised that called not upon him; but each was 
followed with peculiar love, with ward and exercise. 

The forgiveness of God is as if a son returned to his father 
and thus they speak together: 

My father, pardon me. 

My child, to pardon is to turn toward thee again; and I never 
was turned away from thee. 

*Ecqlesiasticus, ii. 



FOKGIVENESS. 79 

Then why hast thou not taken me to thy heart, as of old, 
my father? 

My child, I could not take thee till thou earnest. 

But why hast thou not sought for me, father. 

I sought thee best, my child, by leaving thee to thyself, yet 
watching over thee invisibly. 

Such is the forgiveness of God. The prayer for forgive- 
ness, if it be such a prayer as the perfection of that forgiveness 
should call forth, is a lowly utterance of penitence, of sincere 
aspiring to the good and the right, of earnest search for com- 
munion with God and climbing to it, turning the face to him 
again. And to this penitence, this wish, prayer, seeking of spirit, 
success and communion come from above in such degree as the 
search is pure and single, and accords with the state of the soul 
as it is; and especially in measure as what is sought is not the 
turning aside of anger, which never was with God, nor the re- 
mission of penalty, which no more can be- than the divine order 
be overthrown; but singly communion with the divine life. 



I turn now to speak of forgiveness among men. This I 
will strive to do carefully and reasonably. For it is very import- 
ant. What can be more grave or vital than forgiveness among 
men? For it is plain that injuries, hurts, imperfections abound; 
if healing abound not with the hurts, I mean, if forgiveness be 
not at hand for the injuries, what can save us from an up-piling 
of wrongs and grievances till we all be buried under them? 
Therefore as I have reasoned of divine forgiveness, to show that 
it is not like human pardoning, but is of a different nature, and 
is a peculiar, infinite, eternal perfection, so now I will reason 
of man's forgiveness, that we may be informed by reason, and 
be able the better, the more nobly and the more surely, to exer- 
cise the virtue and beauty of forgiveness. 

Here I will remind you of the definition of human forgive- 
ness with which I set out, namely, that it is threefold — 



80 FORGIVENESS. 

1. The doing away with anger or enmity. 

2. The resuming of the broken trust. 

3. The remission of penalty. 

I will examine each of these three parts of forgiveness in 
human relations. 

Our human relations divide into two parts, public or collect- 
ive, and private. By public or collective, I mean the relations 
of men to their public servants, governors, legislators, teachers. 
The private relations, are those between individuals. I will 
speak first of public or collective forgiveness, meaning the par- 
doning by the community, or by any large company of men 
therein, of offenses against public life, interests, rights, morals. 

I think firmly that public offenders never should be forgiven 
by the citizens. I mean that, in the case of betrayal of public 
trusts, of whatever kind, forgiveness should take, at best, only 
two of its three steps, and the other step never, or only if the 
offense be light and not treacherous or disgraceful, and then 
only after an exceeding long time. 

The first part of forgiveness should obtain at once; which 
is to say,, anger ought to cease, and the sooner the better, for 
then the people will act reasonably and see the right way. Anger 
is not made honorable by surging through a crowd. As one 
man is but a maniac while he is in a rage, so many persons 
angry together become a mob. Public wrath sometimes sweeps 
over a people as fiercely and insanely as anger through a 
man's veins. Bishop Butler said, " Why may not whole com- 
munities and public bodies be siezed with fits of insanity as 
well as individuals? Nothing but this principle, that they 
are liable to insanity equally at least with private persons, 
can account for the major part of those transactions of which 
we read in history." These words are no little weighty; for 
if to be a madman is to act under fanciful illusions, unreas- 
oned shadows and dreams, how maniac have been countless 
assemblies, senates, concourses of men ; and how little like it is 
that men will be calm and rational in councils and congresses 
if they be not calm and rational at home. It need not be en- 
forced that public madness should cease. Anger or fury ought 
to be put away as quickly by a company as by a man. There- 
fore in point of wrath and enmity, public offenders should be 



FORGIVENESS. 81 

forgiven like faithless friends, or other kinds of private truants. 

Now, as to the second part of forgiveness, the suspense or 
remission of penalty, may this be granted to public offenders? 
May they be forgiven in this second part or degree of forgive- 
ness? Yes, they may; and sometimes it seems well they should. 
Sometimes there are so many traitors or recreants at once that 
all can not be punished without very sad and cruel effects 
and multiplied pains, ten thousand imprisoned or banished or 
destroyed; at which humanity revolts. And if not all, why one? 
Sometimes too, conditions and events may go very far to bespeak 
pity. 'Tis seldom that it is an error to spare, at least in a de- 
gree if not wholly. 'Tis very hard to look into the heart and 
know all its pangs and wrestlings and temptations. Where- 
fore very often mercy is no more than a due humility and re- 
ligious caution under our human ignorance and the short sight 
that we walk with. So that I say penalty may be spared 
public offenders ; yet with care and reserve, and not so freely as 
may be done with private culprits; because it is to be questioned 
what the effect on the state may be, whether the remission of 
penalty may cause like offense to start up and flaunt itself dar- 
ingly. For sometimes the hard of heart or the selfish will use mercy 
but as food whereon to feed themselves to strength to make an- 
other attack. This is a very sad sight, but I have seen it, even 
in private malice I have seen it; wherefore caution is to be had, 
and it seems not right for the officers of state, ay, or for the 
whole people, to take as much risk for the whole as a man vir- 
tuously may take for himself. Therefore I urge that public 
rogues, traitors, corrupt officers, betrayers of trusts, may be for- 
given in respect of punishment and mercifully let go, but only 
with care and reserve, not so fully as a private man may fend 
off punishment from his enemy. 

But as to the third part or degree of forgiveness, the resum- 
ing of forfeited trust, the reposing anew of a confidence betrayed, 
how stands the public offender in this point? I answer without 
scruple or hesitation, that in this part of forgiveness there should 
be no public pardoning. I speak wholly of the officers and ser- 
vants of the people. I mean not to say hereby that if some un- 
happy man be imprisoned for legal or moral fault, and there- 
after he earn respect from his superiors or from his fellow-men 



82 FORGIVENESS. 

by good conduct and repentance, he may not be pardoned, put 
in trust again and given another trial of his manhood; for this 
may be not only wise and expedient, but very just. I speak of 
persons in trust, who, having been placed over public interests, 
have betrayed them by selfish policy, by corrupt practice, or 
even only by gross failures of judgment. The citizens never 
should forgive such offenders, except to pity them without wrath 
or to stay some penalty; never, however they may seem to be 
repentant, to reinstate them in office, or to trust them again; for 
public safety requires this firmness. Wendell Phillips was wont 
to say that republicans should have long memories; and if no 
tincture of vindictiveness be included, it is a wise saying. A 
doctrine of stern unforgivingness as to public service is needed in 
political life, and is not a wrathful feeling prolonged cruelly, but 
a sound judgment continued reasonably. For though one who 
has failed once may do the like never again, yet the risk is too 
great that like causes, if any happen, again will lead him estray. 
Besides, it is for the public health that so great infamy should at- 
tach to the injury of it, that no man once poisoning it, though 
never so little, can lay his hand on the body politic again. 

This, therefore, if I have not erred, is the true doctrine 
of human forgiveness touching public offenders who are cor- 
rupt or tyranous officers, betraying the people's trusts, or blun- 
dering servants unfit for their posts, that wrath and vengeful 
feeling should be checked straightway, and with cool judgment 
affixed punishments often may be remitted mercifully, but that 
the penalty of distrust should never be lifted, nor the offender be 
forgiven in this third degree, to be trusted again by the people. 

Now I come to private forgiveness, between man and man. 
This falls into two divisions ; first, forgiveness of a friend, 
secondly, forgiveness of a stranger, or of one so little near to us 
that he is but as a stranger whose name we know, passing us 
often but not near to the heart. 

As to a stranger, I would counsel firmly that he be treated 
like a public offender, and I contend that this is salutary, right 
and needful. Here, too, anger is to be subdued ; and so far, forgive- 
ness is a duty to any stranger, howsoever an offender. Also I 
would counsel not to push penalty, if by us punishment can be 
averted without harm to any. But I would urge a doctrine of 



FOBGIVENESS. 83 

unforgivingness in judgment; for it is sound precaution to take 
no stranger in who once has robbed the house, or ever 
again to repose a trust that once has been violated. For, how- 
ever we may argue or strive to predict, it will remain always a 
reasonable fear that whoever, for passion or pride or interest, 
has served us ill once, for like or greater cause, if any happen, will 
do the same again. Therefore in this third part of forgiveness, 
which also is the greatest and the most delicate part, the resum- 
ing of trust, I would counsel that seldom a stranger be for- 
given. 

But this is very serious counsel, very serious, critical and 
grave, not to be taken lightly or rashly, but only thoughtfully and 
with much careful conscience. Especially two prime and weighty 
conditions are to be observed. The first is, that if never we are 
to forgive a stranger in the third part of forgiveness so as to en- 
tertain him again with trust, then we must make very sure, with 
utmost simple sincerity, that we do forgive in the other two 
parts; not that we forgive in words or profession, but that truly 
and in deeM and in our very hearts we forgive in these two parts, 
doing away with anger and all harshness, and, as much as may 
be, refraining from punisment, and altogether from punishment 
which has any taint of ill-feeling in it. 

The second condition is found in cases of charity. For if 
we be dealing with a brother man who is needy, who may suffer 
much, and especially may bring hardship on innocent ones de- 
pending on him, if we cast him off, then it may be a duty of 
mercy to give him place and trust again, and entreat him in every 
way to do better and to sieze his opportunity and be faithful to 
the trust. The duty of helpfulness is a very sacred and urgent 
duty. We ought to forgive a stranger so perfectly in respect of 
anger and enmity subdued, and penalty laid aside, that we 
will not stand in his way, not by the least sign or act in 
his way; and then that we will help him if he be in need 
or in danger or has aught at risk in which we may avail; 
and then, if there be any chance or hope for it, as very 
often there is, that joyfully we will strive to help him up 
from the evil he does, and win him to the good; for this is 
the greatest of all helpfulness. And if this may be done best 
in any case by bestowing trust once more, then it may be a 



84 FOEGIVENESS. 

duty of mercy thus to put ourselves at risk. This is a sit- 
uation which tests the grain of the sincerity of the soul and of 
the unselfish truthfulness with oneself to which a man may 
reach; for each case must be judged by itself and on its own 
points; and how shall any one judge, or see the right and 
perfectly good way, if he come not to it with a very simple and 
sincere soul and with the very truth of kindness in his purpose. 

This, therefore, would be my sum of doctrine and counsel 
about the forgiving of strangers, when they have wronged or 
deceived us, — that we must cease from anger, and must not be 
harsh or urgent for punishment, or revengeful ; but that it will 
not be wise for us to give them trust again, nor truly helpful to 
them to lay ourselves in their power to be ill-used again; yet 
that this is a very serious and grave charge to take, and never 
taken rightly if not weighed well in honest thought and temp- 
ered with mercy. 

Now I come to forgivness of friends. What shall I argue 
and counsel in this case? 

First it is to be noted that whatever the true counsel be, it 
has to be applied to many grades of friendship; and whatever 
duty is based on friendship must rise with the grade and dear- 
ness of the friendship. There are many degrees and kinds of 
fellowship, which must be treated each according to its station, 
from the entire stranger to the closest bosom friend. Therefore 
right action in this case calls for sound judgment; and judg- 
ment never is sound, nor worth aught, unless it be guided by 
sincerity, instructed by unselfishness, moved by kindness. 

We shall see clearly the true counsels for forgivenes of 
friends if we recur to the definition of forgiveness and apply its 
three parts to this case. 

In friendship forgiveness ought to be speedy and absolute 
in two parts. Anger should flee, of course; and better if so 
quickly that it has merely passed like an ill-bird of passage. Also 
penalty will be remitted, of course. But what is the right 
counsel touching the third, the most delicate and signal part of 
forgiveness, namely, the resuming of a betrayed and broken 
trust? Here there are two cases, in which the counsel must be 
different; these are, the case in which the friend who has done 
ill is sorry and repentant, and the case in which he is not re- 



FORGIVENESS. 85 

pentant, but still flaunts the wrong, either declaring it to be 
right, or unwilling to make confession and amends. Now, both 
of these cases stand the same regarding the first two parts of for- 
giveness. Whether the ill-doing friend be sorry or not sorry, or 
whether he seek forgiveness repentantly or stand aloof defiantly, 
we must do away with anger, sink all bitterness, and waive all 
punishment. For the third part of forgiveness the counsel 
is easy as to the unrepentant friend. In this part he must not 
be forgiven. He must not be trusted again, so long as he car- 
ries himself proudly in his wrong. But should he be sought by 
his friend whom he has injured, and entreated to repent, to con- 
fess the wrong and amend it to what stretch he can? It may 
be. Great reverence and obedience should be paid to love. And 
it is very sure that no one should believe any injury to him from 
his friend till he has gone to him and asked him whether indeed 
he has done so. But if he acknowledge it without grief, ungrac- 
ious, churlish, defiant, then how much he should be entreated 
is a nice case in love, which can not be decided save as each ex- 
ample arises, and then safely only with love all aflame and plead- 
ing faithfully in us; and it will turn much on how long time has 
hallowed the friendship and how deep in the bosom the friend 
hath lain. For it is to be noted, too, that some honor is to be 
paid to trust, that it be not offered to ruthless flouts and mocks ; 
for trust is too precious to be turned forth a-begging, and it is said 
fitly that pearls should not be sown to be trodden by hoofs, — 
beauty unreverenced, love ravaged with tusks, tenderness styed 
and bemired.* But if sometimes it be a bedraggling of love or 
of trust to offer it, or to entreat a cold heart or pray at the door 
of selfishness, sometimes, too, it is so to make confession and seek 
forgiveness ; and this is to be inquired of carefully, if there be 
any signs of such misuse of an offered repentance and humility. 
The seeking of forgiveness by confession of fault is nobility of char- 
acter; but I have observed that for good to accrue, there must be 
elevation in him whose pardon is sought as in him wno has 
risen to the height of seeking it. It is not always well to make 
confession, since however we may long to do it, it may have 
been proved that we deal with one who takes it not nobly, but 

* Mt. vii 6 ; Lc. xv. 16 ; Prov. xi. 22 ; Mt. xv. 27, apparently a proverbial ex- 
expression (Mt. vii. 6j turned by the woman to her advantage with tender hu- 
mility. 



86 FORGIVENESS. 

ignobly, and perverts the fact. I have known persons who, if 
any fault was confessed, assumed at once that he who so acknowl- 
edged one error was faltering in other positions or claims; and so 
what was a gracious humility became an injustice to the one who 
so had humbled himself, and even the occasion of more conflict. 
This is a vileness; but if nevertheless it exist, as I have seen it, 
silence may be more just than to suffer perversion of the con- 
fession, or reinforced strife. 

In this case, then, of a friend who has done us ill, and is 
not sorry, I say he is not to be forgiven in the third part of for- 
giveness, but is to be distrusted thenceforth. But if a friend be 
sorry and come to us repentant, which is the other case, then, I 
say, he must be forgiven forthwith, completely and in wholeness, 
in all three parts of forgiveness, — anger turned to . gentleness, 
punishment never thought of, and trust renewed. But you will 
say to me, How can trust be renewed by will or effort, as anger 
can be put to flight arid penalty remitted? For whether there 
be grounds of trust is a judgement, and as the matter is before 
us, like a shape or color before the eye, so we must see it; and 
we can not judge so or so at will, but only as the reason leads. 
But I answer, first, that we must carefully consider every point to 
our friend's excuse, or advantage, so that our judgment may do its 
best for him and our love be a defense of him ; and, secondly, 
that, however the judgment may hang back, yet for a friend, 
and in proportion to the dearness and closeness which have been 
between us, we shall repose trust again in outward act. This we 
can do. Unto this we are able by the heart. However we 
strive, it may be impossible to revive inward trust ; for this is a 
judgment and must move by evidence or probability. But we 
will trust our friend again in act — that is, in outward relation. 
And this is a triumph of love. For in point of reason, it may 
be no safer so to forgive our friend, in this last and greatest part 
of forgiveness, than to pardon a stranger; but love has both its 
own rights and its own powers, in virtue of which we take risk, 
because it is according to the nature of love to do so, though the 
judgment call it risk noth with standing. Thus it must stand 
until by long faithfulness the erring friend have won again 
the right to be trusted in our mind by reason as in our acts by 
love. 



FORGIVENESS. 87 

As I said of strangers, so now of friends who have wronged 
us, I say that forgiveness is a virtue so great and heavenly that 
it grows on itself and goes on to more than the three parts of 
its definition; for as by the definition or nature of forgiveness, 
penalty ought to he put away very often, reprisal or vengeance 
always, which is a negative rule, that we should not do injury 
or hurt in return for an injury, so there comes forth a positive 
rule, that we should try to do good for the evil and to be useful 
to the wrong doer. We ought to follow him with help; in any 
thing in which we may bless or benefit him, we ought to strive after 
him with help ; and especially we should follow hard with help 
(but modestly and not setting ourselves above him as instructor, 
for then there is no help) to lift him above the very ill that he does 
us and win him from it; and if we can not trust him in mind, 
still we must follow with help; and if he betray us so much that 
neither in mind nor in act is it safe or right to trust him again, 
still we must follow with help if there be any way to it. For 
this is like the divine forgivness which follows us and winds 
around us to reclaim us, and never is turned away. 

Here to sum up this argument of human forgiveness, I 
would set the doctrine of forgivness in these rules: 1. In all 
cases, exercise forgiveness in the first part, that is, in victory 
over bitter feelings. 2. In many cases, public and private, 
penalty may be remitted, and always it ought to be when it can 
be; which is another element in forgiveness. 3. As to public 
offenders, judgment should never be changed or suspended or 
trust reassumed. 4. In private, often this judgment may be 
put in abeyance and trust bestowed again, so that forgiveness 
shall be perfect in act, and if possible thereafter in mind also; 
but not often toward a stranger, and toward a friend in propor- 
tion as the love is dear; and this not because it is reasonable 
except as love is rational, for the risk is real notwithstanding, 
until a long faithful probation shall have lifted it away. 

Now I have three thoughts for you, wherewith to end this 
long sermon of forgiveness. They are, The difficulty of forgive- 
ness, The beauty of forgiveness, and, A beauty that is greater than 
forgiveness. 

Forgiveness is a hard virtue. It is not to be hidden that 
it is very hard. To some natures it is a great struggle and 



88 FORGIVENESS. 

desperate wrestling ever to forgive at all. These are not bad 
natures on that account. They are like in spirit to those bodies 
with which some particular disease goes very hard. But there 
are few to whom it is not a hard virtue if they have been 
hurt much. So delicate and great a virtue is forgiveness that 
sometimes if we have injured another and he be provoked 
thereby to do us ill, we seem to find it harder to forgive than 
if we had done no wrong first, and the enmity hangs to us 
more bitterly. This seems a strange thing, and when I have 
thought I beheld it, I have rubbed my eyes and looked again, 
to be sure that I saw aright. If I be not mistaken and have 
seen the fact truly, how is it to be understood? Perhaps for- 
giveness is so hard a virtue and draws so heavily on the soul's 
powers, that when we first have done injustice, we lose so some 
power of soul to be applied in forgiveness, and our own wrong- 
doing so weakens us that we find it harder to forgive an- 
other's. And there may be a shame evoked in us by our ill-deed 
which makes us dislike the person to whom we did the ill; or, 
saddest of all, we may have done the injury because of an aver- 
sion, distaste, prejudice, lack of human love. It is a common 
saying that we find nothing so hard to forgive to another as our 
having injured him. But however this, forgiveness is a hard 
virtue. The hard part to master is the first part of forgiveness. 
It is easy by the aid of a little will and a little shame, to re- 
frain from punishment or vengeance; harder, but not very 
hard, to take the risk of trust once more; but to free ourselves 
of harsh feeling and cast out the last dregs of it, is hard; 
if the injury have been bitter, faithless, treacherous, it is very 
hard indeed. 

It will be well to remember, also touching this matter, how 
great and valuable a quality respectfulness is. Indeed, I know 
naught more precious; for if tenderness be the joy of life, respect- 
fulness is its dignity. Few things seem harder to forgive than 
unrespectfulness ; but if it be disrespectfulness, forgiveness is 
very hard indeed. This is not because of the hurt or the 
anger, which quickly may fly away; much more because of the 
poor health which then we suffer; for nothing weighs down, 
burdens and wastes us like unrespectfulness inclosing us; but 
most of all, this will not be forgiven because of its effect on 



FOEGIVENBSS. 89 

the judgment, which is the third element in forgiveness. For 
whoever walks daily alongside of faithfulness, however simple, or 
of any superiority, be it of age, or position, or whatever, with- 
out a warm respect for the worth thereof, made plain in deferen- 
tial behavior — whoever so walks, I say, empty of respectf ulnesss, 
"is but shallow water;" and what shall heal the hurt of this judg- 
ment that it is shallow water? or how can love be cheated of its 
sounding line? Therefore unrespectfulness is very hard to 
overlook, because it works in such manner on the judgment. 
This is one of the hardest points in the hard virtue of for- 
giveness. 

But there are blessed and helpful things to say. The first, 
is that forgiveness is as noble as it is hard ; and very ennobling, 
because when we have done the hard tiring, " its strength 
passes into us." The second thing is that we have some strong 
helps, " shields and bucklers." If we will be careful not to in- 
jure our enemy, not even by speech to do him a harm or to 
turn others against him, and if to this we will add a good effort 
to do him a service if it come in our way, not pretentiously, but 
humbly and seriously and quietly, and will do our best to give 
trust again so far as may be, we shall find that the fever of the 
heart will be cooled much and bitter tastes leave the mouth. 
Also there are reflections which help, much urged by Marcus 
Aurelius and other stoics ; as, that no one can do us a real harm, 
" because he can not make our ruling faculty worse than it was 
before," and that all men are kindred before God, and that soon 
we all must die, and that if we be ill-treated, either we deserve 
it and so must take it humbly, or else we deserve it not and 
then it is not we who are treated in that manner but some other 
kind of man for whom our enemy mistakes us; and that a 
wrong done us is an opportunity to act reasonably and kindly, 
and " if a little oil be spilt or wine stolen, we should say to our- 
selves ' This is the price of tranquility and peace — nothing is to 
be had without cost;'" and that as men are not born wise, 
but have to become so, we must be patient ; and that if we can 
teach a man the right way, we should do so, but if we can not 
teach him, we should be meek on that account ; and that we 
should beware of feeling toward the cruel as they do toward 
others; and many such-like thoughts, which give strength and 



90 FORGIVENESS. 

reason if we dwell on them, Also let us remember that for- 
giveness is courage: it is manliness, it is self-conquest, it 
faces the world calmly and often dares to be misunderstood, 
which is a noble daring. 

" Pear to do base un worthy things is valor ; 
If they be done to us, to suffer them 
Is valor too. 

* * * 

The purpose of an injury— 'tis to vex 
And trouble nie ; now nothing can do that 
To him that's valiant He that is affected 
With the least injury, is less than it. 

* * * 

The main part 
Of the wrong is our vice of taking it. 

* * * 

If light wrongs touch me not, 
No more sball great : if not a few, not many."* 

This leads to the beauty of forgiveness, which is the second 
thought wherewith I end. Much might be said of the fair 
sweetness of forgiveness, its beautiful grace. But I will speak 
of only one special beauty of it, which lies in the third and 
greatest part of it, the bestowing again of trust in outward 
relationship however the judgment know this to be risk and 
danger. This peculiar beauty will appear if we attend to the 
other parts of forgiveness; for victory over anger, though it be a 
very fair sight and renews a disturbed beauty in the face, as a 
pool of water after the fretting of a gusty wind comes again to 
be starred from the sky when the ripples fall, yet this grace of 
renewal is but passing and quickly over, leaving no image of 
itself save in memory or in the slow chiseling of the features 
into patient shapes. Again the penalty being remitted, there is 
a beauty of mercy, which is also the grace of unselfishness; but 
this too, belongs to a passing act, and has its moment of con- 
ception, and again of act, after which it lives but in the gallery 
of recollection. But when the judgment is held subject by love, 
and however it be furnished with misgivings in the mind, is dis- 
armed by love in the behavior, so that the judgment stays, but 
love ties it up from action — this is a perpetual triumph, every 
day freshly garlanded — an eminence of the very best thing in 
us, and therefore, a beauty which passes not, but freshens every 
instant so long as judgment points one way and love carries our 

* Ben Johnson's "New Inn, ' 



FOEGIVENESS. 91 

feet another. But this, as I have said, is beauty belonging to dear 
friendship, not often wise or safe with strangers, for it ought to 
be the triumph of love and not of heedlessness or slack atten- 
tion, or ventursomeness or indifference. 

But now T say — which is my third thought wherewith to 
end — that whatever beauty there be in forgivness, much more 
beauty is spread by not needing pardon, by giving no offense. I 
hold it a kind of impiety and a sad folly to jest about u lovers' 
quarrels" and the disagreements of friends. Nor know I aught 
more hurtful than what many say — namely, that such quarrels 
are needful to " the spice of life," or that they are the tossings 
which keep the sea pure, or that they are like the discords which 
lead again to a harmony the better welcomed and enjoyed. For 
all these, and others like them, are but misleading figures, very 
mischievous and contrary to the nature of the heart. It is 
strange to me that people think so little as to speak thus. For 
is it not certain that no relation can be just the same after any 
act as before it? And is it not more lovely to think of the right 
and do it under stress of temptation, than to repent of the wrong 
after the stress is over and the hurt has been done? Moreover, 
it is only the steadiness of a gentle behavior which is good 
growing weather for crops of joy and peace; for then there are 
no ravages to clear up, as from a storm, but constant sunshine. 
"What would be thought of a climate which was a perpetual 
chase of cloud and sun, of storm and pleasantness, of heat 
and frost, following each other by minutes, so that all living 
things were broken or shivered at one instant to be fervently 
heated after a little interval, and then again to be torn and 
frozen ? What would grow in such a climate ? Now, no more 
grows much good in a house where much needs to be forgiven. 

Memory has a part in this subject, for the permanence of 
memory is not to be overlooked. Whatever once is put therein 
stays forever. And when had will any power over it, either to 
call it up or to put it down ? When we have not thought of 
something for many years, or for a lifetime, or ages, for aught any 
one can say, by some association, as I have said before in this 
discourse, it will leap to the mind as if done but yesterday, or 
even as if now doing and seen or heard again, and with all the 
hurt or all the joy that at first it had. It is strange that people 



92 POEGIVENESS. 

reflect not more on how deeply storms, injuries, vile or sordid 
things, sink into the soul, and especially into a child's mem- 
ory. If this be thought of, it is plain there is more lovliness 
when no forgiveness is needful than when it is granted; nor 
shall you be able to heal by any entreaty or by any means such 
a wound of spirit as you may make in an instant in a young 
creature. I have heaad of a little girl who, taking the dead 
hand of her brother said, " This little hand never struck me." 
Surely a memory richer and fairer than if she could recall a 
thousand repentances for blows! When this is not only nega- 
tive but positive, so that one can say, " These eyes always 
beamed and showed a peace; these hands always labored for 
me; these feet were ready with service, and these ears had a 
merciful sense,full of attention, which is sympathy " — this is a 
noon of memory to which recollections of repentance are but 
dim twilight, half dark. 

The long sermon is ended. Let us strive unto the doctrine 
of it. Let us make its truth light. As it is the forgiveness of 
God that never he was turned away from us, so let us be turn- 
ing forevermore unto each other. " In love and peace and quiet, 
go: God's blessing keep us all! " 



FREEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHAR- 
ACTER IN RELIGION. 



"The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit that we are the Children 
of God." Kom. viii 16. 

Grand words are these of Paul. They mean that religion 
grows in the heart by nature, and that God witnesses of himself in 
the soul. Religion has taken a great step in these times. Once it 
was conceived as something coming down from above and put 
into man; but now, as coming up out of man, growing with his 
growth. At least, so we think of Religion, and all the world 
seems to us surely coming to the same thought. This is a very 
great change indeed, and very blissful. For if Religion be in 
and of the heart, and comes of it, then it gathers all men to- 
gether as into one family, all being at one in the source and 
nature of religion where it arises, however they may differ in 
thinking of it when it has arisen. Now if thus by this new 
thought of Religion, that it is in man by nature and grows with 
him, not put into him from outside him, men be brought into 
one great family, then it follows that they must live together 
with the virtues and the principles of a family. Now these 
virtues may be summed up in three. — the justice among all the 
members which leaves each free, and the love which binds all 
together in fellowship, and the personal goodness of character 
by which each is a worthy member. These three virtues of the 
household, and of the family of many households which is 
mankind, we take for the expression of our new thought of 
piety — "Freedom, Fellowship and Character in Religion." 
This is the living principle of our church. 



94 FREEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHARACTER IN RELIGION. 

What is Freedom in Religion? I ask and answer this 
question the more gladly because I know not what needs more 
to be explained than Freedom. For as Freedom is both a very 
vast power and assured fact, sure to possess the world, it will 
be, like any great engine or tool, either a waste, if men under- 
stand it not, or an injury if they misconceive and misuse it. In 
these days Freedom is made a party-cry or a war-cry, or a sort 
of talismanic word as if the mere speaking of it were a magic to 
open the doors of all happiness and wealth. It is shouted fool- 
ishly or madly or revengefully ; and many so use it as fairly to un- 
hinge themselves from that axis of order and obedience on which 
the world turns. It is no little thing therefore to ask, "What 
Freedom is, and especially Freedom in Religion. For if Free- 
dom in Religion be understood, it will be like to sanctify all 
other freedom with soberness and peace. 

Freedom in Religion has three meanings or parts. First, 
all agree that it means at least so much as this, namely, Inde- 
pendence of any outward dictation or authority in our thinking. 
It declares that no man, nor men, nor companies of men, nor 
institutions, nor eras, nor documents, books, writings, can have 
any commission to settle for a human being what he shall think, 
or to enforce agreement, if that were possible, with any creed. 
This right of every person carries a duty with it, as it is the na- 
ture of a right to do so. For it is the duty of every man to pos- 
sess himself. When one has grown to man's stature in body, it 
is his duty to be a man also in mind. And if this be duty, then 
the duty is the highest and most sacred in respect to the high- 
est and most sacred things, which are religious truths. To give 
up our thinking at any command, no matter by what sanction, 
whether of church or book or miracle or prophet, to let any 
other do our thinking for us, to take ready-made what we shall 
believe and to believe it without thinking, — this is the peculiar 
quality of very early childhood. But when, while still young, 
the child begins to question and is full of wishes to know reas- 
ons and causes, this is no perversion or depravity, but nature at 
her business of growing. To cany the infantile quality of im- 
plicit acceptance into manhood, is to be unfaithful to the high- 
est duty of mind, and to abdicate its crown and royalty. Such 
an act is abject. It may be that thought is painful and doubts 



FREEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHARACTER IN RELIGION. 95 

press hard. What of it ? A king must not resign his crown 
because it is heavy. Nay, though it cut into his brow, he has a 
duty to his people. So must a man wear the crown of thought, 
even if it be, like the Master's, a crown of thorns, because he 
has a duty to the world. This then is the first meaning of 
Freedom in Eeligion — that we have title and duty to think. 

Secondly, Freedom in Eeligion means also right and title 
to utter our thoughts, saying what we think simply and truth- 
fully. For if to give up thought be supine, to give assent 
against thought or without thought is untruthful. Now here 
you will see that I touch on the claim of the great church of 
the ages, which always has demanded and enforced assent. For 
the church has known that it could not control the realms of 
thought except through fear, superstition and ignorance; for 
whenever a man broke -through these, then in the invisibility of 
his mental states, he might think what he would or must, and 
none could see. Therefore, the church has sought indirect con- 
trol by teaching that it is the duty of the soul to believe, with- 
out inquiry, what the church declares true. In this effort the 
great church has had much success, for by molding the plastic 
mind of childhood it has brought up hosts of people in this sub- 
jection, which has robbed them of the very stuff and joy of mind. 
But what if thought go astray by some misfortune, or, as they 
say, by reason of the natural wickedness of the heart, so that one 
can not believe as the church ordains? " Then," says the 
chinch, " If you consent not at heart, still you must assent by 
will; you must say — If I see not this to be true, or even in fact 
see it false, as I do, yet I know it is true because so the church 
says, and I assent to it." Now this is untruthful; for simply it 
utters with the mouth what is denied in the mind, and declares 
we believe on authority what we know well we believe not for 
itself. What then would be the truthful way if we should find 
ourselves at once venerating an authority or teacher and dis- 
senting from a creed or doctrine thereof? It would be the truth- 
ful course to say — I can not believe this thing; it is no question 
of will, to do as I choose, but of thought, which goes its own 
way as it must; yet so I venerate the authority and so well I 
know my own weakness and fallibleness that I will wait, strive 
and wrestle with this thing; but I can not say with my mouth 



96 FREEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHARACTER IN RELIGION. 

that I assent till in my heart I do consent; and if never I consent, 
then at last I must say this freely, for to me it will be the truth. 
This, I say, would be the noble way. But against this good 
way, the church has set itself, for it will have naught but assent 
with the mouth whatever the mind be thinking. Nay, the 
church has punished honest speech with chains or the stake, 
calling it heresy; in which very word the church has branded 
its act as a hatred of honesty; for heresy means to inquire, and 
a heretic is but an inquirer or asker after light, who does no 
more than say he is in the dark and is seeking his way, or, per- 
haps, that this way or that way looks to him like the right one. 
The church has forbidden so much as the asking of a question; 
though in these latter days it has grown wiser, or else perforce 
has yielded to the spirit abroad, since it can not resist; and 
which way it is, I know not. 

We say, then, that Freedom in Eeligion, meaning, first, the 
right and title to think, secondly, carries with it also right and 
title to speak our thoughts with peace. 

Now, thirdly, Freedom in Eeligion means to be free of our- 
selves. This is a personal and holy sense of it. It means to 
stand above ourselves and judge ourselves, till we be free from 
the insidious bondage of our own prejudice and passion. It in- 
volves the keeping of our mind large, open, friendly to thought 
and hospitable to any question. Who is free if he be enlisted in 
little wars of passion and creed, in the jealousies of a dogmatic 
or narrow education which mislead thought or even turn the 
mind against thinking? Are we free if, having cast off the 
yoke of foreign dictatation, we remain under that of our own 
prejudice, ignorance or fear? What matter whether we be 
shackled by an outward authority or by passionate habits of 
mind ? — Nay, but it does matter. For to be slaves of ourselves 
is the worst slavery. Phillips Brooks has these brave words, — 
" I dread with all my heart to be the first man who turns away 
from any old statement of truth, simply out of mere willfulness, 
simply because it has become monotonous, if it still expresses the 
truth of our time. But I dread a great deal more to be the last 
man who stands by an old statement of truth, simply because 
of its familiarity, if it has ceased to express the real religious 
life and thoughtfulness of the days in which God has placed us." 



FREEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHARACTER IN RELIGION. 97 

Freedom of ourselves means to be lifted to a calm light. 
When into this we come, no more we are whirled about by gusts 
of jealousies, clamorous doctrines, passions, prejudices, opinions. 
These things befog the mind, shrouding us in a thick, black mist 
through which we can not find our way to think ; nay, in the very 
thick of the mist they poison the soul as with a sleeping draught 
or benumbing liquor, so that not even we have a wish to find our 
way to thought, but sit down by the wayside, content to be wrapt 
in the indolent fog. But when a man is free of himself in re- 
spect of religion, then he is able to clear his way to the truth, 
because he ivill do it, and he will hold any doctrine for no reason 
but that he thinks it the truth ; and this reason he will hold so 
sacred that on the first suspicion that he has not the truth, 
quickly he will examine, search, and test with a free and glow- 
ing mind, that he may find the truth wherein alone is rest and 
power. Fontanelle, when near his death, said, "It is time for 
me to go, for I have begun to see things as they are," — a sad 
reason, indeed, for dying; ay, and a faithless one, not rich with 
the liberty and the courage of the sons of God. For what can 
make this life or any hfe so glorious as to escape from all ap- 
pearance into reality and begin to see things as they are. For 
then no more we grope blindly or sit basely in mists of passions, 
prejudices, conflicts, creeds ; but we arise, and being ready to 
move, Freedom takes us by the hand and leads us out beyond 
and over the fog-wall, where on a height we have a great ex- 
panse of nature before us. What true expanse of nature is not 
both glorious and awful? Also to be free of ourselves is to be 
free of fear, which is another splendor of it, a shining, majestic, 
masterful quality of soul, whereby a man becomes so free of 
himself that even he thinks not of himself; yes, he thinks no 
more of what may come to him to-morrow for following the 
truth than of what he thought yesterday which might keep him 
from following ■ but he follows on because his mind works and 
thinks and leads him to the glory of liberty. He is then a fig- 
ure like Demosthenes, who counted not the cost to himself, nor 
so much as looked at it, or if he turned an eye on it straight- 
way looked away with scorn, and said to the Athenians, " My 
counsels to you are of such nature that sometimes they are not 
good for me to give, but always are good for you to follow." 



98 FREEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHARACTER IN RELIGION. 

This freedom of ourselves, as I have said, is the noblest of all 
liberty ; in truth there is none like it. It is like an eagle whose 
wings fly in the highest regions, whose talons drag all other lib- 
erties after it. For we can both think and speak in freedom of 
others, if first we be free gloriously of our passions and fears. 
Samuel Johnson said that, " Political liberty is good only so far 
as it produces private liberty," which, indeed, is so; and, there- 
fore, the noblest social liberty is that which leads to the most pri- 
vate kind of freedom, and that is freedom within oneself, neither 
to be caged without motion, nor to be tossed about with furious 
struggling by our obstinacies or passions, but free to explore for 
the truth. The man who is tied by himself is two-fold a slave, 
a slave enslaved by a slave. 

Who will arm himself with his passions and plume his 
head with flaunting creeds to go out to war for the truth ? Who 
will be such a mad man of La Mancha astride a Rosinante? Who 
will be so impudent as to take on him to protect the truth, and 
not humbly see rather that it came and converted him from 
his errors and weakness ? Yet everywhere the world is full of 
the cries and buffettings of men who, not being free of them- 
selves nor living in the calmness and courage of real liberty, don 
all their passions and go out to take care of the trutb ; which, 
reverently I say, is the business of the Almighty Power, who 
never hath failed in it since first the morning stars sang together. 
I know not what is more impious than to go about to take care 
of the truth by any other way than by opening the doors to 
thought that it may walk and pass everywhere freely. Religious 
reasoning should be uttered by everyone as calmly as a chemi- 
ical discovery, and with no more concern that it survive. For 
however one strive or plot or kill, he can give no thought any 
more life than it has, and no one is commissioned to protect a 
thought, but only to give it space. Protect the truth? Take 
thinking under our patronage? Wall around the truth with 
men's devices, conventions, priesthoods, creeds and statements? 
Assemble first to protect Niagara that none shall dam up 
its waters! Convene to protect Mount Blanc that men shall 
not lift it away, nor polish its sides with the powered Jungfrau! 
Sit in congress at the Eddystone to protect the ocean that men 
drain it not with basins or tap its floor till it run away! Gather 



FREEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHARACTER IN RELIGION. 99 

on hill-tops to protect the stars that the little children may 
not filch the pretty balls for their games! Then when these 
things be done, sit ye in church, conference or council to protect 
the truth, — which, if it stand, is like a mountain, or if it move 
is like a torrent, and goeth all around the earth like the ocean, 
and liveth above all clouds and cometh out of them like a star. 

Freedom in Eeligion truly is a great trust and faith. It 
means that we lean on the serene order and perfect power 
which make for truth and right, and we are filled with courage 
and joy since we know the truth needs not to be bestead by us, 
but is hedged by its own divinity, and will show the greater 
the more daylight is poured on it. Therefore we become large 
entertainers of thought, ready to search anything both reverently 
and fearlessly, whether an old sanctity or a new doctrine, dread- 
ing not the high air of thought, for it is our home, — " like the 
bird which, perched on some frail thing, though he feels the 
branch bend under him, yet sings loudly, knowing well that he 
has wings." 

The second point in our threefold principle is Fellowship in 
Religion. If religion be somewhat that is put into man, accord- 
ing to the old thought of it, then it is the same always ■ but if 
it spring up out of man, as is the new thought of it, then it 
will be as different in each case as the men are. But that it 
springs in all is a greater fact than that, having sprung up, it is 
found different in many. Wherefore it makes the meeting of 
man with man to found on that greater fact ; and this is Fellow- 
ship. " Fellowship in Eeligion is to bring the brotherhood of 
man into religion so that the bond of humanity is put above 
that of creed or church or any other thing. This will teach us 
not to set bounds anywhere, as to say, We will receive all 
Christians but not a Jew, or, We will receive all Jews and 
Christians but no others ; but to say as Paul did, that we receive 
all, being made of one blood and walking under the common sky 
of the One Creator and Father." 

Fellowship in Eeligion places the humane relations before 
doctrinal ones, so that we meet as men however separated we 
be in thought. This brings into religion the unity of human 
brotherhood, which is a fact wider than religion. For religion is 
but one thing which springs in a man by nature; besides which 



100 FEEEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHAEAOTEE IN RELIGION. 

there are many more, like love, thought, pity, ambition, and many 
such; as to all which, men are in brotherhood. Now, Fellow- 
ship in Eeligion, since religion is part of the total brotherhood 
of men, draws sanctity from the brotherhood, and then is of a 
kind to turn about and touch all other points of brotherhood with 
a holy fire. It is thus a gentle and right recognition of brother- 
hood, not only in faith and hope but in thinking over these, 
whereby we become open to all persons from the side of thought, 
to compare views both kindly and strictly, and to listen, and to 
reason together; for as much as we are more at one in seeking 
the truth than we are two or many by coming at different ends 
in our search. One man said to another, "I wish to bring a 
friend to you; I wish him to know you." "Certainly, bring 
him." " But he thinks very differently from you." " But con- 
sider how much more he is like me if he thinks, than unlike me by 
thinking differently; bring him by all means." Now if the 
thinking of these men were about religion, then this story shows 
fellowship in religion, which thus binds man to man when it is 
known that religion comes up in each by nature. 

I said in the beginning that this Fellowship was one of the 
virtues of the family. This is to say that it is a form of love. 
For consider how much we all need each other. Sidney Morse 
says, " We are all alike. This equality is not of merit, nor of 
greatness; rather of our nothingness; equal we are in God, — in 
being by our individual selves nothing. Who is great alone? 
Who is rich alone ? Isolation, then, is weakness, poverty, ignor- 
ance, — blank and eternal. But in society we are heirs of all there 
is. You and I and every soul, is thus endowed ; we are nothing ; 
we are all the universe holds." What could any one body among 
you, the proudest, the strongest, do without those other bodies 
which conspire to clothe, to feed, and protect that one ? Or 
even without those humble living creatures, the blades of grass, 
the spears of green waving trees, and even the earthworm, 
whose intimate connection with your being, your muscles and 
sinews, nature has been working at for ages and ages ? And 
what could any one heart and mind among you, the hardiest and 
bravest, do without all these others which run into your life with 
joy and with help forevermore, as " as all the rivers run into the 
sea, yet]the sea is not full?" 



FREEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHARACTER IN RELIGION. 101 

But does this Fellowship with men mean lukewarmness for 
our ideas ? Does it imply that we hold our views loosely as of 
little import to the world, or un earnestly as of little moment to 
ourselves ? Nay, it is the very essence of deep fellowship that 
we be true and fervent toward our own thoughts, while keep- 
ing a large and generous companionship with those who cherish 
other thoughts. For in what things do we seek fellows ? Surely 
in the things which we value and believe fervently. In these 
we yearn for companionship. When we believe in religion as a holy 
fact of the heart, deeper than all creeds or thoughts of it, then 
we shall reach out on all sides for the dear ties of Fellowship. 
But how can we be persuaded mightily of the greatness and 
beauty of the religion which runs in all creeds and goes with all 
names, unless we be fervent for our own thoughts of it as pure, 
noble, true and helpful to mankind? But though we be fervent 
for our own thoughts and seek to teach and spread them because 
we believe them deeply, yet Fellowship in Beligion will make 
fervor large and beautiful, teaching us not to be shocked or 
confounded at anything, nor to give anything an ill name, so it be 
earnest and truthful in purpose, lowly and brave in spirit. 

But although this be the way of peace and truth and love, yet 
it is an old saying that, tl God maketh the wrath of man to praise 
him," and if there had been always a gentle worship and never 
hatred and cruelty for difference in thinking, where were those 
great heroisms, those divine sufferings which have fed the world ? 
As a forest of trees may be fostered and fed by the ashes of a 
few trees, so hath the world flourished on the ashes of martyrs. 
If always a precious and gentle fellowship had attended religion, 
then we should have no Eleazar " going immediately to the tor- 
ment that by manfully changing this life he might show himself 
such a one as his age required, and leave a notable example to 
such as be young to die willingly and courageously for honorable 
and holy laws ; " then no Socrates would have stood before the 
Dikasts saying with a proud voice like the sound which a storm 
draws from an oak tree, " You may kill me, Athenians, but 
you will not soon get another such man to tell you what you 
ought to do," and afterward among his friends with the 
simplicity of a child saying, "Yes, you may bury me, where 
you will, if you can catch me;" then no Paul would have 



102 FREEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHARACTER IN RELIGION. 

preached love universal, and withstood the Petrines to the face, 
and have hurled down division-walls with a voice more terrible 
than the trumpets at Jericho, — cast out for the same, beaten 
and left for dead by the wayside, and at last whirled away to 
heaven by fire and sword, too swiftly for memory to sieze on it; 
then no Jesus would have been seized, even while yearning 
towa,rd the people as to sheep without a shepherd, and buffetted, 
scourged, " crowned with thorns, drenched with gall and nailed 
to a cross," while he said to bewailing women, " Daughters of 
Jerusalem, weep riot for me, but weep for yourselves and for 
your children ;" then no Confucius would have been driven unto 
old age from place to place, an outcast and a wanderer, but 
steadfast and grand, until he was broken and falling like an 
old tree propped, and ready for the ground ; then no Huss, with 
the gentleness of a lamb and the courage of a lion would have 
faced quietly a concourse of raging prelates and gone to heaven 
in the flames ignited from their hearts; then no Savonarola 
would have preached with a fiery zeal which at last lighted his 
own pyre; and no Fra Domenico would have braved extremity 
of torture unflinching for the so glorious truth of such a grand 
master; then no Latimer and Eidley would have walked to the 
fagots as to a seat of mighty power, constant but solemnized, the 
one saying, " Be of good comfort, Master Kidley, and play the 
man. We shall this day light such a candle in England, by God's 
grace, as, I trust, shall never be put out;" then no heroic constancy 
of gentle women, the old, the weak, the shrinking, would have 
glorified the earth — such as in the persecutions of the Jews, of 
the Huguenots, of the Albigensians, as when at the capture of 
a castle, the commander of the forces of the Church agreed that 
all the defenders who would abjure their heresy might go out 
unharmed, and when his bloodthirsty troops murmured at this 
because they would be deprived of their victims, said to them, 
" Be not alarmed; I know these heretics; no one will recant," 
and, indeed, spoke rightly, for they clung to their faith and were 
burned, seven scores of them, meeting death and torture with 
prayers and hymns — names unknown and unsung, but their 
life not lost, yea, imparted to you and to me! Yes, verily, if 
Fellowship in Religion always had been in the world, then would 
these great splendors not have been, nor human heroism risen 



FREEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHARACTER IN RELIGION. 103 

almost into divinity. And yet, alas, what pain, what woe, what 
wrenching of every holy affection, what partings worse than 
death, what despair and cries and prayers have gone with these 
glories! Worse than this, what dreadful passions, foaming 
hatreds, gloating cruelty have turned the rack, whirled the 
sword, kindled the fagots! These were an army of giants of 
human frenzies, rages, treacheries and cruelties. They have 
gone, and as they passed along the highway of the ages they 
grew smaller , for the giants enlisted early, and afterward smaller 
people that perchance frothed with as much rage, but had not 
the power; and they too are gone. If any one in this age join 
the forces which are against Fellowship in Religion, if he will 
not reason calmly with his brother, if for honest difference in 
thought, to what degree soever, he has exiled his brother and 
drawn away from him, let him know that he is no more than 
one of some little dwarfs clinging to the rear of the vanishing 
army of persecutors, hideously distorted of like passions with the 
giants, but puny and contemptible in limb. 

The third point in these primary principles of our Church 
is Character in Religion. This follows on Freedom and Fel- 
lowship. For if a pure idea of Freedom and Fellowship 
forbid all doctrinal tests and fences, there is nothing left but 
Character to be the ground of union. What then is Character 
in Religion ? It means that what man is, is the supreme mat- 
ter; not what he says or does in church or elsewhere, nor what 
be his prayers or hymns or creeds, but what really he is in the 
depths of his heart. Also Character in Religion means that 
however loud the voice or ready the mouth, the knee and hand, 
in observance, no man's religion or worship can be better or 
purer than his soul's deeps. It may be better than he seems 
to be — and this is a blessed fact. Many persons are better deep 
in the unseen emotions of the heart than ever they seem to 
others; yea, many who have great and sorrowful faults still have 
a depth in them of very simple and sincere purity. It is out of 
these depths that worship springs. But no man can upraise a 
prayer purer than truly he is himself. Character in Religion 
gives a firm base on which feeling may build its temple with 
towers and spires. For emotion in religion may be either a 
shallow or bad indulgence. It is so when it is based on fear or 



104 FREEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHARACTER IN RELIGION. 

desire, or on aught but simple goodness; still more when it is 
put in the place of character, deemed to atone for bad morals 
and to serve instead of a good life. This is the burden of the 
Hebrew prophets, those most stern and sublime of all preachers. 
In Kuenen's words, "The demands which Jahveh makes upon his 
people are moral demands. They are continually repeated with 
the greatest emphasis and earnestness; the transgressions \oi 
these commandments by the large majority of Israel, especia ly 
by the leaders and men of distinction, is the theme of most of 
the prophetic addresses. The solemn declaration that Jahveh 
takes no delight in the noise of feasts is followed in Amos by 
tiie order: 

' But rather let judgment run down as water, 
And righteous as an ever-flowing stream.' 

And Isaiah exhorts: 

' Wash you, make you clean, 

Put away the evil of your doing from before mine eyes, 

Cease to do evil, learn to do well, 

Seek judgments, turn away the oppressers, 

Do justice to the fatherless, defend the cause of the widow.' 

And no less striking is Micah, who gives the question of the 
pious Israelite and his own answer in this form: 

' Wherewith shall I come before Jahveh, 

And bow myself down before God on high? 

Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, 

With the sacrifices of calves a year old? 

— Will Jahveh be pleased with thousands of rams, 

With ten thousands of rivers of oil? 

Shall I give my first-born for my transgression, 

The fruit of my body for the sin of my soul? 

— He hath showed thee, O man, what is good 

And what Jahveh doth require of thee ; 

What but to do justly, to love mercy, 

And to walk humbly with thy God?' " 

Yes, and the test whether one walk humbly with God in re- 
ligion is whether he do justly and love mercy in life. Loves he 
his fellow-beings more? Is he gentler to those under him? 
more patient with dullness? more forgiving, forbearing and 
kind, to neighbor, friend, or enemy? more thougtf ul of the poor? 
more generous and unselfish? more careful of another's good 
name? slow to believe evil? quicker to believe good? more self- 
sacrificing? more sympathizing? more fair, honest, scrupulous? 
more noble in aim? less given to riches and pride? less self -in- 



FREEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHARACTER IN RELIGION. 105 

dulgent? more thoughtful? more spiritual? more intellectual? 
more religious ? Alas ! for the man who works hard six-sev- 
enths of his time to over-reach his neighbor, and sets apart the 
other seventh to get the better of God, who thinks, " to atone 
by a decorous pietism for a censorious temper, fawning on God, 
devouring men." 

In a certain ancient time there was a poor man living in a 
common house in a little town. Yet it was a house as good as 
most of his neighbors', for the town was a poor place. This house, 
if you will picture it, was but a square box of stone, with a turf 
roof, and a latticed window and a door for light — a dim dwell- 
ing, no better than a large cell, with no furniture but a few 
mats, a chest and some water jars; and the room served for 
kitchen and eating place and sleeping room in one. How often 
has nature chosen humble origins for great things! So was 
this common dwelling; for the poor man who lived in it grew 
to be a great lord, king, and leader of other men's minds, and 
for a time people gathered around him with songs and shouts of 
exultation and homage. And this was better than sometimes it 
is; for he was a noble soul as well as a great leader. Obedience, 
love, honor and worship were paid to him by his followers, and 
this the more because he taught them about religion. For 
when any leader is great enough and good enough to teach men 
about religion, he is more adored than any other teacher. At 
last came the time for the great king and leader to be taken 
away, for none can live forever, and he told his people what was 
the one supreme, living, everlasting truth of religion, the truth 
above every truth. And what was this? What great lord com- 
ing out of a little hovel, in an obscure city, courted with such 
submission and love by his followers, and feeling the spirit of 
power stir in him, might not say to his disciples, " Obey me! 
Follow my words! Worship my authority and keep the faith 
which I have given you ! " Yet not so spoke this master ; but he 
said, "Not everyone that saith unto me, 'Lord, Lord,' shall 
enter the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my 
Father which is in heaven. And many will say to me in my 
day of triumph, ' Lord, Lord, did we not preach in your name 
and in your name cast out demons and wrought many miracles 
in your name ? ' But I will declare unto them, I never knew 



106 FKEEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHARACTER IN RELIGION. 

you. Depart from me ye that work iniquity." Honor of him 
was of no potency, nor any service of him to be counted for them ; 
nay, if they fed not the hungry, and thirsty, took not in the 
stranger, clothed not the naked, visited not the sick, and went 
not to them that were in prison, and did not thus unto the 
least and humblest, then they had a spirit of neglect in their 
hearts which was the same as neglect of their lord. Nay, so did 
he set the heart above all, that when he saw a poor woman give 
the smallest coin, he said, " She hath given riches past all the 
rich." Thus did this mighty lord, before whom the people 
shouted ; and if they had not shouted the very stones would have 
cried out. He put away all forms, creeds, names, to sanctify simple 
goodness in religion. 

Now we have looked at Freedom and Fellowship and Char- 
acter. There is yet the fourth term, Eeligion. We assert not 
only Freedom for the mind, Fellowship for the heart, and Char- 
acter for the conscience, but we assemble all these in Eeligion. 
And in this we differ widely from many persons who would take 
all the other thoughts with us heartily. There are many who 
applaud liberty; who declare for good and humble fellowship, 
seeing clearly that it is indeed a part of liberty ; who enforce 
the worth of character both by precept and by high example ; 
but they look at these by themselves, and not assemble them 
in Eeligion, and indeed take little thought of religion, or 
even make light of it. But we say not only Freedom, but 
Freedom in Eeligion, and not only Fellowship, but Fellow- 
ship in Eeligion, and not only Character, but Character in Ee- 
ligion. Freedom is one aspect of human rights; Fellowship is 
one view or field of humane duties ; Character respects the sanc- 
tity of individual goodness ; Eeligion belongs to them all in our 
principles and purposes, glorifying them and binding them all 
together in our church life. 

And what is Eeligion ? A vast question which I will not 
try to answer now. But you all feel well enough for this pres- 
ent purpose what that great word means. Two things I will 
say about it as related to our church, I mean to our purposes 
and feelings in here gathering together for help in religious 
thought and life. The first relates to the thought and feeling 
which is religion, the second to the eocpression of it. 



FEEEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHABACTER IN RELIGION. 107 

As to the thought and feeling which the word Religion en- 
shrines, take this alone at present, that we all find ourselves in- 
volved and immersed in Mystery. Whatever else we do, we 
must wonder. There can be no end of our wonder, our awe- 
breathing marveling, when we simply look around us and think 
of the earth, the sky, the creatines. Whatever else we know is 
as nothing compared to our knowledge of the infinite that it is 
beyond knowledge, and yet that we live in it and look and 
wonder. Above in the sky, is mystery, and mystery beyond 
mysery, farther than eye can sweep, father than the lenses which 
aid the eye can penetrate that array of suns and systems and 
stars inferlaced rising above each other forever. 

" Bethink thee,— 
This vast of peopled space of burning suns ! 
If on the pinions of teriffc wind, 
Potent to rend strong oaks, to tear down towers, 
Tossing their guns like playthings in the air, 
And twisting huge wrought-iron beams to curls, 
If on this wind, I say, thou shouldst be borne, 
Past moon, past sun, to catch a star, how long 
Would be thy dizzy journey? A hundred years? 
Tea, and a hundred hundred, and that by 
A thousand, and that doubled still — yea, more — 
Riding on the back of a hurricane, 
To reach the nearest of the gleaming globes 
That kindle watch-fires in the arch of space, 
Like beacons set in a cathedral dome. 
And from that star a great new firmament 
Of stars thou wouldst behold, worlds on worlds rolling 
Upon thy vision, here invisible, 
Strange constellations of shining creatures 
Sketching their mythic pictures on new skies, 
Red orbs and fiery nebulae, weird planets 
Stranger than Saturn, and fierce, bairy comets. 
And if upon that star thou shouldst out-single 
The faintest gleam of light, and leap to it, 
Another firmament would rise before thee, 
With worlds piled to the zenith, And so following, 
Forever and forever and forever, 
And still forever multiplied forever. 

Truly, compared with the infinitude 

Which hath no end on either hand, or up, 

Or down, this system of huge worlds, their moons, 

And monstrous sun binding them all together, 

Are but as fine dust, cast by a man's hand 

Into the sky." 

But not only in this infinite realm, star-peopled, do we 
confront the holy and inevitable mystery. This fond earth trem- 
bles with the life of the heavens. It is a star swimming in im- 
mensity, and we go swimming with it, and hence know the 



108 FREEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHARACTER IN RELIGION. 

special wonders of its bosom, at least in some little part. Where- 
ever we turn our eyes, to our feet, or around us, or over some 
stretch of mountain, vale, ocean, — a bit, a mole, a bubble com- 
pared to the depths of starry space, — is wonder and awe, and 
awe and wonder, inseparable forever. 

" The mollusk and the polyp, 
The diatoms, whose thin silicious skins 
Deposit deep beds of white, shining sand, 
And hosts of strange and living little creatures 
In water, earth, or air, — these are the dust's dust: 
Yea, and on this imperious rolling ball, 
What is man's body but a grain or mote? 
And yet how spins the earth unhazarded, 
And singing on its way serenely roves 
Around the sun ; how prompt the seasons are, 
How full of lucious juices and sweet waters ! 
How lordly planets make their grave obeisance 
Unto the central king, revolving round him 
And glowing in his light so vividly 
That they may be descried by day, not hidden 
Even by the sun's prodigious beam ! How softly 
And faithfully the moons attend their worlds, 
Reflecting the sun's smile over the shoulder 
Of night when that brown nurse bids day begone 
And frowns upon the too indulgent light ! 
How man's body thrives, and the little insects, 
And zoophytes rooted like plants— how all 
Flourish and swarm, momentous to the Power 
That throws a comet, sets a sun aflame, 
And squeezes nebulae till worlds ooze out. 
Before Almightiness, the whole is naught ! 
But to All-lovingness the polyp's hunger 
Cries, and the beast's pangs in his barren den." 

But after searching the starry spaces and this earth, yet 
hardly we have begun to wonder, we have stepped but on the 
threshold of marveling, we but totter as a babe in the portico of 
astonishment. Amazement, admiration, prodigy, miracle are 
yet to come. Bow thy head now in admiration, while thou 
lookest into the ineffable depth and spectacle of thyself. Forth 
comes a thought; what is it? whence? It sweeps the heavens 
with one sense and the earth with all senses; what are these 
marvels of senses which brush from the skies and gather from 
the earth the foods of thought and the materials of meditation ? 
"Whence these ecstasies, the pains, the fears, the sacrifices of love? 
Out of what depths comes heroisms? Out of what element in 
imperfection leaps the thought of the perfect ? Whence in our 
bondage the dream of freedom, greater than the eagle's flight? 
Whence in death's presence the thought of the deathless ? How 
come the mighty leap to immortal hopes, and thoughts of 



FREEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHARACTER IN RELIGION. 109 

things to which no senses pierce? Thus, with wonder, I 
wonder at myself. What am I? How came I? What are 
these reports in me ? What are these marvels that keep rising 
in me and declare themselves to have become myself? 

And if I can not tell, if I can only lose myself in the infinite, 
if the skies and the earth, and I who see both and walk on one, 
are all together miracles, and fellows in marvels, majesties, 
auguries, auspices, beyond all reach of word and thought, — what 
shall I say of me, an infinite mystery to myself, looking out 
on these infinite depths of mystery? Is this not the mystery 
recognizing the mystery, the marvels of thought and love 
knowing themselves again? Is not my wonder at all things a 
going out towards somewhat like itself of that somewhat in me, 
— that which indeed is I, yet which I know not, but stand won- 
dering in my wonder-self ? Yes, so it is. I could not marvel 
at the heavenly deeps if I had them not in me; I could not 
wonder at all this " pomp and garniture " of life if I were not 
of the life. Marcus Aurelius says, — " Keverence that which is 
best in the universe, and this is that which makes use of all 
things and directs all things ; and in like manner also reverence 
that which is best in thyself; and this is of the same kind as that.'''' 
Tauler writes, — " St. Bernard says, ' Why does my eye perceive 
the heavens, and not my feet. Because my eye is more like 
the heavens than my feet.' Thus if my soul is to perceive G-od, 
it must be heavenly." Religion appears as love, because in the 
infinite I may behold my kindred, my stock, my source, my 
own look and likeness, and so say, — I am of thee; Thou, 
Infinite Life, and Love and Power, art my source of living, of 
loving, of doing. — This is faith! This is prayer! 

Now, again, this thought and feeling of religion we wish to 
express. It is natural to strive to utter it, if only we speak few 
words and be not too bold for the spirit's reverence. Expression 
of our religious thought and feeling is worship. For this we 
meet together and in simple forms strive to speak the unspeak- 
able and give voice to our praise and joy; also to our needs and 
struggles. We come not to beg or beseech anything with loud 
entreaties and many appeals; but only to witness with a hushed 
and solemn reverence the truth of an unutterable relation Be- 
cause it can not be uttered, after we have done our best we shall 



110 FREEDOM, FELLOWSHIP AND CHARACTER IN RELIGION. 

still be far from saying it, and in our words will lie some partial- 
ity, incompleteness, falseness; but it is more true and draws 
nearer the holy mystery to speak it as well as we can than not 
to utter it at all. The savage who is bowing fearfully before 
his grim idol has more of the truth of the heavens in his incan- 
tations than is in the bold march of a man who with bonneted 
head walks under the stars acknowledging no Infinine Life 
to claim his loving worship, and thinking of himself only as 
a worm's meat. 

But worship should have a beautiful quality which I know 
not how better to name than noble reticence, a delicacy of feel- 
ing, an utterance which suggests much but shrinks from much 
more. By lack of this, some kinds of worship err sadly. They 
tear away that 

" Sweet self-privacy in a right soul" 

which 

" Outruns the earth and lines the utmost pole." 

Yet striving after exalted expression helps true feelings. Also, 
by the direction of thought and by stillness, we can do some- 
thing to prepare and garnish the mind's room for worship. We 
ought to come with peace and reverence, suiting our behavior 
to the sacred purpose of the place and hour. Surely this is an 
hour blessed for its escape from the prodigious interests and 
cares of the toiling world, from the whirl and the struggle, the 
fever, the ambition. For a brief space — too brief if we use it 
well and know its joyfulness — let us cast these daily things be- 
hind us, or climb above them, like a man standing on a high hill, 
who looks far over the earth and into the heavens, and awe is 
in his face. 

Now we have these three, — Freedom, Fellowship and Char- 
acter in Religion; whereby Religion makes a man, first, face 
himself strictly in Character; then his neighbor with love in 
Fellowship; then join with all for that justice among all and 
that grace in each which is Freedom. 



"THE NATUEAL MAN." 



"The Natural Man." 1 Cor. II. 14. 

I propose a sermon of definition. I ask you to be willing 
to tliink with me this morning, even if at first it seem some- 
what dryly or barrenly. For it is good often to clear our minds 
and take a fresh clear view from a space set in order, refreshed, 
swept of collections, heaps, obstructions. To understand well the 
word natural, and to conceive it precisely, is a prime matter, be- 
cause it enters into so many thoughts. Indeed, the word is 
in regard to thoughts, as Palissy found wood to be in respect 
of the arts. The heroic potter set himself to write down the 
arts in which wood was needful in some way, but after a 
while he ceased writing because he could think of no art at 
all in which wood was not needful. In like manner it were hard 
to find any thought of which it may not be asked whether it be 
natural or unnatural, or in some way the word is not used. 

The word natural has much to do in our theological systems, 
in our religious reasonings. What is nature ? What is nat- 
ural? Is what is natural good or bad? Is true religion natural 
and universal, or unnatural and given only to a few by revela- 
tion ? Are sin and wrong natural or unnatural ? If natural 
how then wrong? if unnatural, how can they exist? Is good- 
ness natural or unnatural? If natural, why not constant, con- 
tinual? if unnatural, why do we find it at all? These, and 
like questions bear no little part in our daily hard points of 
thinking, yes, and of acting too. I shall try to reason now of 
what we ought to mean by nature and natural if we use these 
terms carefully in religion. 

Natural has different meanings as is the way with words, 
according to the connections and context. Even when used in 



112 " THE NATURAL MAN." 

theology, it by no means has one simple meaning. In truth it 
has bred much misunderstanding and confusion by its many 
different senses. Therefore it is a main point to understand 
the word natural well and present it to our minds precisely, as 
I have said; which best may be done, by taking its various 
meanings, one after another, since like many words, and they 
some of the greatest, it covers a large space, like the atmosphere 
or water. I will treat of its meanings, if indeed I can gather 
them all, in order: — 

1. Natural means material, concerning, or pertaining to, 
or existing in, the realms of material splendors. By nature we 
may mean the earth and the heavens. In this sense we speak 
of the loveliness, peacefulness, grandeur, sublimity of nature. To 
love nature, is gladness and rejoicing in the beauty of hill and 
dale, meadow, tree, sunlight, moonlight, starlight, music of the 
brook and breeze, and whatever other of all the rich beauties of 
nature comes before us. Science having to do with this mater- 
ial panoply we call natural history, natural philosophy. Na- 
ture in this sense is conceived to be set opposite a realm of 
mind, a spiritual creation or universe, different in substance 
and laws from the natural. Thus in our version of Paul's 
First Epistle to the Corinthinians, " It is sown a natural body, 
it is raised a spiritual body; there is a natural body and there is 
a spiritual body." 

2. Nature is used in a wider sense to embrace not only the 
material part but the whole universe, heaven and earth, physi- 
cal and spiritual, conceived as one glory. Thus we speak of the 
" nature of things," meaning far more than the nature of physi- 
cal objects. "We think then of the constitution, character, aim, 
drift, method and essence of " all that is" That is natural, 
thereupon, which accords with the " nature of things." 

3. Natural means unfolding in or forming part of the visi- 
ble system of things which seems impersonal. Tnus, a tree is 
natural; the box made of its wood is artificial or manufactured. 
The motions of heavenJy bodies are natural; dances or eccentric 
wheels are inventions. Manners may be natural, as opposed to 
acquired behavior or conventional forms. 

4. Natural means inherent in a being by constitution. 
That is natural to anything which it has by virtue of its very 



"THE NATURAL MAN." 113 

being and character. In this sense we speak of " natural relig- 
ion." meaning that the instinct of worship belongs to the human 
soul, a part of its endowment, character, definition. It is nat- 
ural to human beings to nourish and protect their young, but 
natural to other species to forsake them. Each acts as his consti- 
tution is, that is naturally. Similar use we have in such phrases 
as a natural speaker, a natural musician, singer or other artist, 
meaning those whose virtue in their art comes of endowment, 
and has bloomed, as it were, without instruction. 

5. Natural signifies inferred from nature, reasoned from the 
observed facts of the universe. It was in this sense that a dis- 
tinction formerly was much in vogue between natural theology, 
as it was called, and revealed religion. Natural theology was 
thought to be what reason could come at by itself, but revealed 
religion signified those doctrines not to be found by the mind 
of itself in the study of things, and, therefore, put into the mind 
in some way by power. 

6. Observation has revealed unvarying form in the conduct 
of things, in all parts of the universe which can be studied. All 
things move in unbroken order, exact successions, periodic times. 
There is *' no variableness, neither shadow of turning," no excep- 
tion or chance found, where the conditions are simple enough to 
be stated in precise terms. Natural, therefore, means according 
to this invariable order, a due succession of events according to 
that assemblage and induction of facts which is called law; 
opposed to supernatural or miraculous, which imply intervention 
and change in the usual order, by a power over it, as we say, 
rather than in it. 

7. Natural means (and surely this is a strange sense of it) 
degraded, depraved, in all degrees of moral ill; wicked, guilty, 
rebellious, vile, ungrateful, impious, or only unregenerate, unre- 
newed, unconverted, erring, weak in will, bad but without guilt. 
Thus theologians speak of the natural heart, the natural desires of 
the heart, the " natural man." It is in the milder of these senses 
that the word rendered natural seems to be used by Paul. But 
it ought not so to be translated. It refers simply to certain powers 
or faculties of man's being, not touching the question whether 
these powers be all that is natural, and to be called man's nature, 
or whether there be also other powers and tendencies in him. I 



114 " THE NATURAL MAN." 

must suspect that this is one of the cases, though they be very- 
few, in which the English translators guided themselves as much 
by the church theology as by the Greek. The word elsewhere is 
rendered " sensual,"* which comes nearer its meaning, but is too 
strong. " Senouous " would be better; yet that is too limited. 
The word means that part of human nature which the brutes 
have in common with men, including the appetites, many de- 
sires, tendencies, feelings, emotions, pleasures, emulations, mem- 
ories, fear, affection. According to Paul's doctrine, the man who 
lives mainly in this part of his nature and out of that part which 
is the crown of humanity, the spiritual, whereby he communes 
with God, can not know things of God because, they are spirit- 
ually discerned. They must be taught him by the spirit of God 
communing with him and inspiring him. Paul puts not the 
lower under a ban, as wicked or depraved ; but he says there is 
a higher, and it is the higher alone that can discourse of God. 
Yet, though this inferior nature be not depraved in itself, in its 
own place, there is moral disorder in living in it mainly ; hence 
there is a measure of shame and reproach often united to the word 
in the New Testament, as is plain in the passage in James, 
" This wisdom descendeth not from above, bat, is earthly, sens- 
ual, devilish." The Revisers retain the word '« sensual " herein, 
but in a note they say, " or natural, or animal." 

8. Now, finally, I come to the last meaning of the word 
natural, for if there be any more I have not been able to gather 
them; and I hope truly that I have collected them all, because 
this last which now I have to set forth, I think a high and grand 
meaning of the word. Yes, and greater much than any of the 
others which 1 have gathered. And this last and great mean- 
ing of the word I think is very needful in our reasoning and will 
lead to happy conclusions. I think it a shame that this word of 
Paul's should be translated " at >< I" — that moral worthless- 
ness or ruin should be called the " natural man." For I would 
enforce another meaning of natural, which casts not down, 
but lifts up ; a meaning which would make natural leligion the 
same with pure worship, natural theology one with simple truth ; 
a sense by which nature becomes a sacred promise, an infinite 
enthusiasm; a meaning free from all littleness, very grand and 

* James III., 15 : Jude 19. 



" THE NATURAL MAN." 115 

inspiring. But, you will say, can any meaning of nature be 
greater than one previously mentioned, the sense which includes 
" all that is " in the idea of nature, and defines natural by " the 
nature of things." Yes, for that sense might be limited to 
" the nature of things " as they how appmr; while it belongs to the 
meaning which I speak of now that it looks to tendency, not con- 
ditions; scorns delay amid actual instances ; pierces from ap- 
pearance to inward meaning; interprets experience by prophecy, 
and sets the eye infinitely aloft. This meaning of natural, 
which now I speak of, is the ideal, which is to say, whatever 
goal things are striving toward, what a being tends to; by which 
I m^an its ideal aim or destiny written or reported in its dreams 
or visions, above its state or acccmplishment at this moment; 
the invisible model, path, line, end, hope, promise, and justifica- 
tion of a creature; all which is gathered in the philosophic 
expression, the suihimnn bonnn of the creature. By this meaning 
of the word natural, that is natural to a being which agrees, not 
with the present state of him, but with the nature wrought and 
writ in the creature's class or kind, and in the situation or en- 
vironment (which is the philosophic term in vogue), and pushing 
its way to the light and into fact, however it be dim or far or 
slow. 

Like other words, nature will have its varied popular usage. 
Well enough it may signify the material world, its laws, its spon- 
taneous growths; and so with the other meanings of it. But 
in religion 1 think there should be only one meaning of nature, 
riz.j the tendency, the end the id at. We should drop the old terms, 
"natural" and revealed." They are confusion. For natural 
religion is the ideal character, life, uplift of soul unto God; nat- 
ural theology is the ideal belief, or the truth, whenever it be 
found. And we should put away the shame of sealing with the 
image of nature the weakness or wickedness of man. 

In all moral and religious reasonings, I say, I halt not at 
saying plainly that this should be the meaning of natural, to wit, 
the tendency, the end, the ideal of things; for which I find plain 
warrant in the very import of the word by its origin. For it 
comes not only, as well has been said, from the Latin mascor, to 
be born, but from the future participle thereof, and means not 
now being but about to be, or to come forth in the future. Now 



116 " THE NATURAL MAN." 

we have in English three words which have come from the same 
root and mean three kinds of naturalness in three times. One 
is the word nance it, which means the nature or quality of any- 
thing in its beginning or arising, this, being the first of the three 
times. The next is natal, which signifies that now the being is 
here, or the thing is done before us, and refers to the second of 
the three times. Thus we speak of a natal day; and even we 
have the word nat Is, meaning events, time, place and the like, 
of one's birth — though this is an old and rare word. The third 
word is the one which now I treat of, namely, natural, meaning 
neither the beginning nor the present, but the last of the three 
times, to wit, what comes in the future, and is put forth in the 
unfolding of the creature by the ideal unfolded. Wherefore I 
dwell much on this last and greatest sum of the meaning of 
nature and natural, that it casts itself into the future, which is into 
the infinite, and remembers that however we can look back but 
a little, we can look forward without end; and plants therein its 
significance, which is the ideal, the drift, and the aim of the 
creature in endless time, and not what now he is in poverty and 
after but a little stretch or period of his existence. 

If this sense, the ideal, be the just and the highest to give to 
nature, and if we use it fairly in religious reasoning, I think it 
will lead to some happy conclusions, as I have said. We shall 
find much comfort and help, if I mistake not, in some thoughts 
and reasonings which, even with all helps, this and every other, 
still are difficult. One of these subjects is the ancient problem, 
namely, evil, which always has been a very hard fact for religion 
to face ; and many persons, indeed, never have known how to 
face it with religion, but have cast off religion because it could 
not face it. But now, unless sadly I mistake, this definition of 
natural, that it is the ideal, will bring us up to face with cour- 
age all the hard facts, Nay, we shall not be frightened or con- 
founded, I think, when we are asked what we shall do in our 
thoughts with the evil of the world, with the cruelty, violence, 
fraud, intemperance, disease, and all the bitter miseries that 
grow from these rank soils. How, says one, can these things be 
if God reigns and is good? Then answers one: There is no 
God and no good, and things come of evil. But no, says 
another, God is, and is good, but the miseries are made by 



" THE NATURAL MAN." 117 

the devil and bis angels. But then up starts reason with a 
frown to ask whence came the devil, who is the worst evil of all; 
and belike, then, be who reasons avers that all the evil is but a 
smoke, or haze, or mirage, and, in truth, is but good unperceived 
by our short vision. But I know not what to say of this assertion 
but that it confounds all my observation, as if a man were to 
assure me, as a piece of piety, that what plainly I see I see not. 
For surely I do behold great evils, horrible cruelties, and vile 
selfishness; and I know not how, when I stand by them, to 
cozen my mind with fond notions of a sheep performing in a 
wolf's skin; and, indeed, if so I thought, I should deem the per- 
formance itself an ill. Well, then, say I, let evil be admitted 
and pile it up as you will; for neither the fact of it nor the size 
of it shake me, save as problems which tax me but leave my 
heart serene, however I come out in my understanding. For 
the one grave question is, is evil natural? To which I answer 
that surely it is according to one sense; for I plainly perceive it 
here present. But that it is natural in that sense, what more is 
this than to say in another way that it exists? But is evil 
natural in the sense of ideal? Does it start forth in the 
future as a prophecy, like as now it appears as a fact? Has 
it life in the aim of things? If not, then the hard things 
and crimes, whatsoever they be, are not essential ; by which I 
mean of the essence of life and of things. Wherefore in a right 
sense they are not natural, but unnatural. Now this, I will be 
bold to say, is the truth; and it grows into me at each shoulder 
till it becomes wings, lifting me above the pangs of the evils; for 
where can I find then a shadow on the future? The divine 
march of things doth not idealize evil. We may rise in worship, 
like the lark in the morning, bearing on our breast the dews of 
earth because first they are heavenly drops. We may adore still 
the Holy Spirit whose revealed ideal suffers no shadow of wrong ; 
and the problem that now the wrong is here, is set where it be- 
longs, I mean in the province of natural history, like society and 
language, which, for aught I can say, as little are to be explained. 
We gain 

" Fresh power to commune with the invisible world, 
And hear the mighty stream of tendency 
Uttering for elevation of our thought, 
A clear sonorous voice." 



118 " THE NATTJKAL MAN." 

If now we look at humanity and consider the right way to 
define it, I must think it will be very plain that this meaning of 
natural, to wit, the ideal, is just. For, What is human nature? 
or to take the Apostle's strong phrase, What is " the natural 
man? " Shall we give example of it, which is the same as to 
define it, by the savage, the Malay, the Fuegian — are these the 
natural man? Plainly yes, in one sense, being no magical creat- 
ures, but well known facts in nature. But if they be the " nat- 
ural man " in any other sense than as being now actual in some 
places, I know not in what sense. For why should we define, 
or with what justice circumscribe, as wisely a good philosopher has 
said, by the inferior limit? Nay, not only by the lower bound- 
ary, but by the smallest number also? And it were strange, 
moreover, to call the good and the great unnatural men, or even, 
if so I may say, not more natural than the unwrought and rude 
types. Well, then, shall we define the natural man by the aver- 
age ? Which is to say, shall we aver a standard on either side of 
which human nature fluctuates, which standard is found by tak- 
ing the average of the race, this average being the " natural 
man?" But what more does this than show man's present 
state, not his nature ? I see not but the moral variation which 
lies in the notion of an average, shows plainly that human na- 
ture and human condition are not the same always, and if man 
may vary on one or the other side of the standard, what proof 
that this line, or the standard itself, measures the natural man? 
And, again, it were strange to say that the most glorious men 
have exceeded nature and outgrown man. Finally, then, shall 
we define humanity by the most glorious examples thereof, and 
even still more by the prophecy of the unfolding of the race ? 
This I am ready to say is the only just meaning of the " natural 
man;" which is but to say, as a good philosopher has said, that 
we are to expound and define by the " superior limit;" meaning 
that we must describe anything by all that possibly or ever it 
can contain, rather than by the least that ever it did contain. 

Of all that we behold within humanity, the greatest and noblest 
alone should be accepted as revealers of human nature, casting the 
shadow of the " natural man." Ask what humanity is in this pres- 
ent time and stage of it, and I can give you for answer items and 
tables of statistics. Ask me what humanity is by nature, and I 



" THE NATURAL MAN. " 119 

must point to Jesus aucl other glorious names as the only visible 
measure; ay, and the to unnamed faithful who fill the earth, 
thank God, as stars crowd the sky. And the whole race confirms 
this judgment by its homage. How it takes into its heart the 
beautiful and good! How it loves and worships them! How it 
gazes up at them with heart and soul ablaze! With what 
tender gratitude and religious reverence it speaks their names. 
I think we could not so reverence noble persons, unless deep in 
us lay the self-same nature, ready to be moved and thrilled at 
sight of the "natural man." What mankind really worships 
in adoring the great and true, is its own inestimable being. 
We love the noblest sons of men because they reveal ourselves 
and " keep us in mind of our own nature." 

I have said the highest and best are the only just visible defini- 
tion of " the natural man." But is " the natural man" actual and 
visible? Can he be ? Do the great and good seem to themselves 
to have compassed the ideal humanity? No ; profound humility 
and everlasting aspiration are the conditions of their exaltation. 
Still stretch out the heavens infinite ; no height can destroy their 
arc. The greatest and purest beings know that life is forever 
beginning, the ideal vanishing in the divine bosom that we may 
follow unto him. The noble and the exalted always speak of 
aspirations covering them with a clouded glory, and tell us of 
sublime heights which " eye hath not seen." If to this witness- 
ing we add the lessons of human progress, the unfolding of 
reason and the moral sense, the height and depth of divine holi- 
ness and mystery into which we grow evermore, the principle of 
life carrying immortality into experience in measure as truly we 
live, — we see that " the natural man " is unknown, hidden, " in- 
visible and dim " in God. The natural man is realized as action 
in everlasting aspiration and deepening living; but as attain- 
ment, never realized; otherwise action could not be everlasting, 
and life would sink in death. Here, therfore, definition is im- 
possible, because all limits vanish. The narural man is the 
resident and indwelling life of God. 



BUEDEN-BEAEING. 



"Bear ye one another's burdens " Gal. vi. 2. 

" Eachman shall bear his own burden." Gal. vi. 5. 

Here seems a strange contrast. We are bidden to bear bur- 
dens for each other; yet every man is bidden to bear his own. 

And indeed, at first, this seems a mere speaking back and 
forth, first one way, then contrariwise in the next breath. Yet 
the two precepts together raise an expectancy, a glimpse or 
break, of the philosophy of burden-bearing. For it is plain the 
whole truth of the bearing of burdens must be in two parts or 
questions, — What is our duty regarding our own burdens? and, 
What rests on us regarding other persons' burdens ? Now, may- 
hap the answers to these questions, which is to say, the philosophy 
of burdens and the right bearing and sharing of them, 
lie in these two precepts of the wonderful Apostle, hung 
up by him opposite each other as if balanced on a beam. 
Yes, so I think it is. This is clearer still in the context of the 
two sayings, the few words that go before them and stand be- 
tween them, wherein, if I mistake not, the eye of Paul has seen 
down to the bed of this subject of the bearing of burdens. This 
I can make plain by a free paraphrase of the passage from the 
first to the fith verses, — free as to language and expansion ; but 
close to the Apostle's meaning and within the walls of his in- 
tent. Thus it is: Brethren if any of you fall into any evil deed, 
or if he fall into a mere outward observance and. mistake it for 
true faith, then you who are in stronger spiritual state must help 
such a one up and restore nim. But see that ye do it with meek- 
ness, not presuming over your brother nor vaunting yourselves, 
but remembering that you too may be tempted. To fulfil the law 
of Christ, bear one another's burdens in this spirit. For if a 
man be puffed up, self-righteous, complacent, censorious, he 



122 BURDEN-BEAEING. 

thinks himself more than he is ; nay, with such a spirit he be- 
comes nothing and is deceived in himself. But what then? 
While a man admonishes another, shall he himself be falling ? 
Or shall he lean on another, willingly weak and lame, waiting 
like a beggar to be lifted up, and crying to have his burden 
borne for him? No; let each man prove his own work, look to 
his own duties well, carry his own burden manfully, and then 
what glory he hath shall be of himself and not by reason of his 
neighbor. For each man ought to bear his own burden. 

Now, herein I find three principles set forth which hold folded 
up in them the whole truth and argument of the bearing of bur- 
dens. These are, 1. That a man must bear his own burdens; 
2. That each must bear the others burdens ; 3. That this lat- 
ter duty must be done with meekness of manner and of mind. 

Now, with these three principles in mind, let us explore the 
nature of burdens, to see whether these three principles will not 
guide us well in dealing with burdens. This we can do by ask- 
ing three questions about every kind of burden — 

1. How much ought a man to bear this kind wholly by 
himself and hide it in his own heart ? 

2. How much ought the friend or neighbor to bear this 
kind for his friend or neighbor, or with him ? 

3. In what way or manner ought one to offer or try to 
help bear another's burden of this kind? 

When we inquire of the nature of burdens, we see, on the 
first look at them, that they fall apart into two orders or div- 
isions — 

1. Secret burdens, hidden in the mind, not to be known 
by others unless disclosed purposely. 

2. Open and plain burdens, visible to every one, not to 
be hidden howsoever we may wish. 

Of these I will speak in turn. First of the open and mani- 
fest burdens, which we can not hide if we will. 

These open burdens are of many kinds, and varied in weight. 
Some are very heavy, some light; some are noble, worthy, some 
slight and trifling. For examples — Any failure of our endeavors. 
When we have put forth effort, 'tis not without desire;, if we fail 
of the object, the mishap is a burden that weighs on us in meas- 
ure as the desire was keen, Sometimes if the effort be public, the 



BURDEN-BEARING. 123 

mortification of defeat in it is a heavy burden, hung on the bur- 
den of the failure to gain the object. Another kind of open 
burden is a general failure, a hard or dependent lot, poverty, 
privations, cramped and hard-bound conditions, struggling for- 
tunes. Another kind is bereavement, loss of friends by death 
or by unfaithfulness, parting with children, breaking of heart- 
entwining ties. Another kind of visible burden, is blemish of 
body, deformity, any unsightliness, lameness, lack or loss of 
members, sickness, weakness, blindness, deafness. 

Of these open and manifest burdens, these loads sometimes 
so heavy, now we will ask the three questions which I have set 
forth. 

The first question is, — How much ought a man to bear these 
burdens for himself ? I answer, 

1. As much as he can; and this is done, 

2. By not complaining; either in words, or in counten- 
ance. 

3. By not sinking down, but manfully bearing up.| 

Is there ought more unmanly, unwomanly, more low-born, ill- 
bred, lout-like, than the habit of complaining ? I pass over now its 
impiety, of which I have spoken often heretofore. To complain 
is to hurl words against the holy skies, to pelt the heavens with 
balls made of the commonest clay in us wet with the oozings 
from a sick heart. It is to lay our unreverent hand on an altar 
and shake it; to press with a bold noise into a sacred place; to 
jangle, bay and jar in the heavenly quiet which is eternal; to 
brustle brazenly before the holy order which is the presence of 
God. This I pass over now, to say only how rude, unmannerly, 
lumpish, vulgar, ill-made, it is to be full of complaints, how ill- 
favored and unseemly it is, graceless, un-robed, ungentleman- 
like. For surely it is plain that a man ought to bear his own 
load as much as he can, and bravely, without groaning and cry- 
ing out about it. To complain is to be beggarly, whining out 
that we can not carry our burden and begging some one to help 
us up with it; nay, it is a kind of robbery, because it unloads 
from our own shoulders to another man's, whether he will or 
not, and seizes him to be driven under our burden however thus 
he be spoiled of time and strength. Oh ! that one could picture 
as bright as it is, the dignity, worthiness of a man's bearing his 



124 BUKDEN^BEARING/ 

own burden as much as he can; and the countenance as dark 
as it is, of a man's laying his burden heavily and ruth- 
lessly on another by the unmanly way of complaining! For 
there is no so heavy way of being loaded with a burden as of list- 
ening to the complaints, cries and groans of a man who must 
carry it; and there is no air to dwell in more ill to breathe, more 
spoiled of life and health, more vented in with ill odors till it is 
uncleanly, than this air of complaining. There is no dignity or 
worth in our lot, nor any act that is like a man, but to lift up 
our burden with a good silence and carry it alone as much as 
we can. 

And if a man should not discharge complaints and cries at his 
mouth, much more should he not do so all over his face. To be 
silent, indeed, but to wear a down-cast look, a moody brow, a sour 
face, is but to relieve our neighbor's ears to discomfort his eye, 
and to multiply the tongue's distemper by all the features. 
Simple good cheer in the face and quiet silence in the tongue — 
this is the first way to bear our own burden as much as we can. 

The next way is, not to give up, not to sink down, never 
to despair; but if we fall, to rise again, manfully to bear up; and 
if it be heavy, to try the harder, doing to its best what we can 
do under the conditions. The best a man can do under the con- 
ditions is all God hath for him to do. 

Bnt you will say to me, Perhaps he himself has made bad 
conditions; then is he not answerable still for what he might 
have done if he had kept the conditions good ? No. He will 
lose just so much; he can not escape the penalty; but he is not 
answerable at any moment for more than at that instant is in his 
power. That more might have been in his power if he had done 
well in foregoing moments, counts not against him to load him 
with duty at this moment. If he have made bad conditions for 
himself, still, they have been taken into God's Almighty Provi- 
dence and are now like to some lot he is placed in, like to a field 
or portion of nature in which he must labor; and the best he 
can do in those conditions is all his duty, day unto day. Some 
of the conditions he may remedy, perhaps. This, then, is hope 
and relief. Some of them he can not mend in this world but 
must strain under them always. Then there is dignity and 
labor for him, the bearing of his own load all he can. 



BURDEN-BE ARJNG. 125 

It is right that we should go sometimes to lay ourselves on 
a friend's heart. Heaven forbid that I should throw away the 
precious value of friendship, the confessional of love, the re- 
sources of sympathy. Heaven forbid that I should relieve love 
of its cost and price; for no man can be my friend but at the 
cost of knowing my griefs and warming my pains in his own 
bosom. But this is not complaining. Yet even this is to be done 
with a noble reserve and in a high way, lest it become complain- 
ing. For a noble sympathy and a brave, hardy fellowship under 
burdens, is the very^jfood of love; but to give complaints and 
grumblings back and forth is to exchange poisons. 

Now comes the second question regarding the open and visi- 
ble burdens — How much ought the friend or neighbor to bear 
this kind for his friend or neighbor, or with him ? I answer as 
before, As much as he can. This kind of load, that which is 
open and manifest, not secret in the soul but plain to sight in 
circumstances and affairs, this kind, I say, is to be borne by 
each for the other as much as we can. That is, we must lighten 
the burden all we can for one another. For these burdens can 
not be hidden. Sickness, injuries, losses, failures, struggles on 
which fortune smiles not, — these things stand forth to view. 
Therefore there is no intrusion, no shock, invasion, breaking in 
on a delicate privacy, when we approach to bear one another's 
burdens in these plain and public points. Also these are mat- 
ters in which we can bear burdens for each other. It is possible 
always, because the loads are outward and circumstantial. We 
can apply our hand, we can give aid, we can reason, counsel, 
cheer, point the way, smooth the path, find the place, sooth the 
smart 01 failure, say the good word in time, awake hope, feed 
friendship, rescue, warn, second, sustain. Now these things we 
must do as much as we can. There is no other limit. We are 
bound to take up these burdens for one another as much as we 
can; not as much as may be easy, with little effort, with no sac- 
rifice; or as we happen to be moved; but as much as we can. 
We owe burden-bearing to each other with no limit save the 
end of the burden or the end of our power. This is the fine 
truth. This is the law and the health of the family of God. 

But here, it may be, two questions arise. You will ask what 
the right limit of our power is, which is the same as to ask 



126 BUKDEN-BEAKING. 

what amount of sacrifice we ought to make. J answer, — If you 
wish truly to know, you will know. If with single eye and 
pure heart and unmixed longing for the right way, you apply 
yourself to each instance, to learn your duty in it, you will be 
able to see well, to know the measure of your duty, and to dis- 
cern how one thing bears on another, because you will be look- 
ing at the things clearly and not in the fogs of your selfish in- 
terests. By this purity of heart you will know what you can 
do justly. The one point is to attain to this purity; that is, to 
fix the principle and the wish to do as much as we can. 

The second question that may arise is, If a man will not 
bear his own burdens at all, but shifts them off and lets them 
fall on others, what then is the duty of others as to bearing his 
burdens for him? The answer is found in the principle first 
laid down, namely, that a man should bear his own burdens as 
much as he can. Now if each one bear his own as much as he 
can, and we also bear one another's as much as we can, then 
each bears just the righteous measure. This is a part of the 
beautiful balance of nature, the usefulness of all to one and of 
one to all. But if one will not bear his own part, which part is 
as much as he can, then an unrighteous part is laid on another. 
Now we ought not to bear an unrighteous load; and soon, if 
many be piled on us, we can not. Therefore if a man desert 
his post, unshoulder his own burden, be lazy, shifty, poaching, 
feigning, extorting, parasitical, then no one should bear his bur- 
dens for him, but leave him to the discipline of them; for 
that is justice and necessity, and nature's way to whip him again 
to the front till he learn to be a man. 

In respect, finally, of these open and manifest burdens, I 
come to the last of those three questions which lead us, I think, 
to Nature's truth as to burden-bearing. That question is, — In 
what way or manner ought one to offer or try to help bear an- 
other's burdens of this kind? I answer — 

1. By a meek way, a simple purity of heart, as the great 
apostle says, — " Bestore such a one in the spirit of meekness, 
looking to thyself lest thou also be tempted." To bear another's 
burden with him we must go to him humbly and very respect- 
fully at heart; in simplicity, with no flush of self-praise, no man- 
ner as if in a higher and better place than he has. Then with 



BUBDEN-BEARING.! 127 

this simplicity of heart, neither seeking praise nor giving itself 
any, we shall have a divinity of power to bear burdens for one 
another. But if we go proudly and in a lordly way, conse- 
quential, vainglorious, self-admiring, we can help not a jot; for 
we shall give a stab in the heart by our pretensions worse than 
the rents we may mend in the garments by our ability. Only 
a perfectly pure humility can give great and true help. 

2. We can bear one another's burdens sometimes by the 
delicate way of not seeming to see them. A pure heart will 
know easily when this way is a good way. There are loads 
which lose much of their weight when our fellows have no eyes 
for them; such burdens as many kinds of sickness, injuries or 
blemishes of body, humble position, dependence, narrow and 
cramped means of life, mortifications, disappointments, some- 
times slanders and treacheries, presumptions and impudences. 
'Tis a very delicate and lovely fellow burden-bearing in many such 
things to conduct ourselves in simple good faith and fresh good 
cheer, just as if they were not so. And the simple, pure heart, 
I say, will have a divine guidance to know when this will be 
helpful and upholding. 

3. We may bear one another's burdens (a common truth, yet 
how often forgotten) by seeing them exceedingly well, which means 
plainly and with sympathy ; by kind and constant ministrations 
in the burdensome points ; by generosity, devotion, long and steady 
help, unremitting friendship, counseling and planning, standing 
by bravely, — all the supports which heart, head, hand and store 
can give, showing" the friend in need the friend indeed." 

To this point, now, we have come regarding burdens which 
are open and visible — that a man should bear his own burdens 
as much as he can, which means that he must not impose them 
on others; and that we should all bear one another's burdens as 
much as we can, which means that we must not wait for them 
to be imposed on us, but take them up freely. And the stress 
is on the words " as much as we can;" and if we have sincere 
desire to do as much as we can, we shall have a divine power 
to judge well, learn much, and see the bearing of one thing on 
another, and know what we can do. And, finally, the helping 
to bear another's burden can be done only with simple, pure hu- 
mility of soul. 



128 BURDEN-BEARING. 

So far I have spoken of the open burdens visible to the world. 
Now I come to secret burdens, in the mind, invisible, not to be 
known by others unless he whose burdens they are divulge them. 

These secret burdens divide into burdens relating to — 

1. The Past. 

2. The Present. 

3. The Future. 

Each of these three classes is affected by different laws and 
relations. 

First, we will look at the burdens relating to the Past. These 
must be burdens of memory, and burdens of memory can be only 
moral burdens For naught can load the memory forever but 
some kind of sin. It is one of the blessed facts of the soul that 
memory can bring back pain only in small part and dimly. We 
can remember that we suffered anguish, but we can not again 
remember it with the like anguish. Memory will hang in its 
homestead no pictures of pain ; but in all the halls and chamb- 
ers it will hang etchings of joys, so lovely that to look at them 
seems to be a living over again of the joys as blissfully as when 
they were passing; nay, even more blissfully, because we may 
be hurried so quickly past cups of pleasure and tables of delight 
that we can only sip and taste a little, not able to drain the full 
flasks or stay at the table of heart-food. But afterward in retro- 
spection, in the chamber of memory, we may nourish us to the 
full at the board of good pleasures, of healthful comforts, and 
may drink to the bottom the glass of happiness, yes, slowly 
and partaking all its flavor, and holding it to the light that the 
sun may stream through its topaz joy. Thus often a joy that 
was but half caught in passing we can call back, hold in quiet, 
and enjoy to the utmost in memory. Also as a joy passes, 'tis 
but one delight, and gone; even if it were enjoyed to its depths, 
it was enjoyed but once. In memory it is at call to be enjoyed 
over and over forever. Also we can take our joys as the 
moments pass, only one at a time, but in memory we may 
place these joys side by side like pictures on a wall and enjoy 
many together, comparing them, and setting off one with another, 
like lovely sounds or colors, each fair in itself, but fairer still 
combined. Thus pains fade in memory, but joys keep their 
power and accumulate. What a heavenly law ! Therefore I have 



BUBDEN-BE AS ING. 129 

said that burdens of the past, which is to say, burdens of mem- 
ory, can be only moral burdens, recollections of bad deeds and 
evil motives. 

To this kind of burden, therefore, which is the secret burden 
of the mind relating to the past, the load of sins in memory, we 
will apply as before, the three questions. The first question is, — 
How much ought a man to bear his own burdens in this kind ? 
The answer is that he can not escape them. He must bear 
them. The open and visible burdens very often a man may 
evade. He may unload them selfishly, meanly or feebly upon 
the shoulders of others. But those secret burdens which are sin- 
loads he must bear for himself. He can not shift them, nor 
throw them down by the wayside. He must carry them, how- 
ever he stagger. He may sleep and forget them; but when he 
is near waking 'tis like his dreams will be colored with them. 
He may walk his way in a moral sleep, like as if dead in heart 
and moral sense; but sometime he will awake, some shudder 
will run through his life, some convulsion of experience, as if 
the whole earth reeled under him, and will shake him awake. 
Then are waiting there his sin-loads as heavy as when he forgot 
them, and he must bear them. Or he may try to drown him- 
self in hard work or in reckless gaieties. No matter. He can 
not change the burden's weight, nor can work forever nor riot 
forever, and at every pause he falls back into the knowledge of 
the load on his neck. 

But, then, must a sin remain always a heavy and terrible 
burden — perhaps heavier and more dreadful in measure as one 
grows conscious of it by reason of moral improvement ? No, 
not forever, I think. Very long and sad and heavy may be the 
load of a sin; but as in nature we may see the havoc of a storm 
all effaced at last, or a battle all done away, so that no trace re- 
mains of its red and roaring horror and heaps of death but 
patches of deeper green in the grass perhaps, so, I must think, 
the burden of a sin may be buried some time in a tender and 
enriched turf of repentance. It will remain in memory — oh 
yes! for we can not loose a part of our very selves; but not as a 
yoke of burden, though never without a solemn sorrow. But it 
may be a burden during a long, struggling journey, in which no 
man can throw down his load or run away from it, but must 



130 BURDEN BEARING. 

bear it. For as one of you has written well, " Two things must 
come to pass to make an evil deed as if it had never been. First, 
repentance; a sincere regret for the evil wrought. Secondly, 
atonement; a righting of the wrong so far as lies in our power. 
The first may be fulfilled in an instant, the second may require 
ages."* 

To the' first question, then, How much ought a man to bear 
his own burden in this kind, the secret burden which is a moral 
load in memory? this is the answer — that he must bear it; 
that it is not a matter of will with a ay one, but of the law of 
God by which the burden of my sin is on my neck and I can 
not refuse it. But now comes the second question. How 
much ought we to try to bear one another's burdens in this 
kind ? For though a man can not escape his own conscience- 
burden, nor unload it from his own heart to another's, yet 
may he not be helped in it ? May it not be lightened for him by 
hope and love? Ah! what may not be lightened by love, whisp- 
ering tenderly, " Hope! Courage! Cheer thee! Eise! Strive!" 
That we can not bear one another's burdens in this kind 
would seem, indeed, the fact at the first look. For the evil deed, 
which is the load, is all done and gone into the past and can 
not be changed; and it is a matter of memory and can not be 
affected in that strong tower which receives everything but returns 
naught; and it is a moral matter, a business of conscience, 
which judges us strictly and alone. Yet I think we can bear one 
another's burdens even in this kind; that is, we may lighten, 
cheer, sustain, strengthen. And if we can, then the answer to the 
question, How much ought we? is the same as before, — As much 
as we can. There is no barter of more or less in this holy duty, 
no limit but our power in this angelic ministry wherewith we 
may help one another in the name and by the might of God. 

If, then, this fellow-bearing be possible under the sin-loads 
of memory, the third question now comes, In what way or man- 
ner ought we to offer or try to help bear another's burden in 
this kind? 

To this question five answers come before me. The first is 
that, if we would be able indeed to give fellow-help in bearing 
sin-burdens, we must come to it with a delicate and humble 

* Mary L. Lord, in Uniy, March 2, 1889. 



i BURDEN-BEARING. 131 

sense. This I have said before touching the open and visible 
loads of life. Humility of spirit is even more needful in put- 
ting a hand for one another to the burdens of conscience. You 
will not help the fallen up or lighten the load of a bowed spirit 
if you go to him with a proud gait or a complacent air as if you 
had never staggered; and if never you have been shaken, nor 
even know what it is to sway while you stand, or stagger though you 
walk, yet you will help no one unless you go to him humbly, as 
remembering that you might totter, "restoring him in a spirit of 
meekness, looking to thyself lest thou also be tempted." All 
which meek wisdom may be put into this saying, that you will 
never help bear anyone's burden if you go to him thinking how 
able your help is, for you must be thinking only how great his need 
is. 'Tis thus that the virtuous (if then they can be called virtuous 
who have no meek and lowly heart), though they would have 
power by their virtue, loose it by their vainglorious sense of vir- 
tue; yes, and more than loose the power to help bear a burden, 
for they meddle with the burden with such irreverent hands and 
so rude a touch that they but jostle it painfully, and make it 
gall the neck which before it was weighing down to the dust. 
Some persons are so fine and wear such stiff ruffles of virtue 
that they are of little use one way and very harmful another 
way; because the virtuous have no need of them, and the sinful 
are scratched by the starched ruffles if they come near to lay a 
weary or shamed head on them for rest and for help. Thackeray 
says, " The wicked are wicked no doubt, and they go astray and 
they fall and they come by their deserts ; but who can tell the 
mischief which the very virtuous do." Oh! I have seen come 
on the face such a black look, especially on the face of a woman 
when the error of another woman was mentioned — such a black 
look, such a hard, f thick ice of virtue as seemed to me on the in- 
stant the most odious thing in the world, and I would run any- 
whither, even into chambers of shames, to be rid of that fine 
brow of deadly virtue. If any one have such a thrifty kind of 
goodness for his own credit with himself that, as has been said 
well, " it is the sin which he has not committed which seems the 
most monstrous," be sure that he will not touch a sin-burden 
with the tip of his finger but to make it heavier. He who very 
easily forgives himself will have no power to forgive another to that 



132 [B URDEN-BEARING. 

other's benefit and help under his burden ; and belike, too, such 
a one will forgive nothing but what in himself he forgives. 
" Other men's sins are before our eyes, our own behind our 
back," says Seneca ; which means that we keep other's sins in sight 
to judge them, while we have forgotten our own as soon as 
done. But if a man feel his own sin no burden, can he have the 
meekness which can restore others ? This then is the first answer to 
the question of what way we must take to help bear a moral 
burden, and an answer as great as any, namely, that the way is 
a humble spirit, to go to the burden not thinking of our fine 
ability but only, with pity, how heavy the load is on the neck of 
him who is bowed under it. I must think that Jesus never 
wore the stiff linen of obtruding virtue, nor ever in his face had 
the dark look nor the cold look of a touch-me-not goodness, nor 
in his manners ever gathered in his skirts with a look askance, 
lest they touch something sinful. For it is written that enemies 
heaped blame on him for consorting with many persons without 
asking questions about them, and written also that the sinful 
and heavy laden thronged about him, which never they do about 
one who pushes forth his goodness as a rebuke of them, but only 
around one who covers them and their sins together with a cloak 
of silent, lowly purity. 

The second answer to our question is, that we ought to touch 
a moral burden in a large way, not in a narrow, condemning, sen- 
tencing way, fastening only on the fault like a blind human 
statute, but in the divine way which gathers all the world of 
facts, (for the moral history of each soul is a universe!) into 
sight and sympathy; by which I mean, justice supplied with a 
large heart. Touching that marvelous story in the eighth 
chapter of the Fourth Gospel, have you asked ever the question 
whether Jesus did justice? It was justice — that divine justice 
which sees more in the fault than the fault. Oh! often I have 
wondered at the fury of the virtuous to rend and tear the wicked, 
or even erring. When, three years ago, before the anarchist 
leaders were executed — that sad time which left a dark stain on 
our city, — I made " A Plea for Them " in this pulpit, not de- 
nying their crime nor glossing the guilt of it, but striving to see 
in the fault what was beyond the fault, there were cruel words 
abroad, and some persons denounced any merciful voice as a fel- 



BURDEN-BEARING. 133 

low of the "murderous hounds" — for so they called the misguided 
trespassers who were standing in tC the shadow of death." It is 
not with such a spirit that we can help bear one another's burdens 
of transgression. To bear one another's burdens in this kind is 
a thing so great that it calls for greatness of mind. It is too 
heavenly, too beautiful, too much like God, who bears the load 
of us all, to be done by a narrow spirit or half-large heart. 
How can you help any one under a moral burden if he have 
more virtue in him than you have eyes to behold it ? For then he 
has more goodness in his soul than you have soul to see good- 
ness, and belike he can cure you better than you him. 

The third answer to our question is that a way to help bear 
moral burdens is by kind encouragement and by continued trust. 
This is a point which I treated in the sermon of 
"Forgiveness." Touching wrongs done us, I said that 
the judgment may see clearly the risk in giving trust again, but 
that the heart often will take that risk for love's sake, resuming 
trust in outward relations however the reason halt at it inwardly. 
'Tis so too in moral ills which are not wrongs done us ; but other 
sins. Herein also we may judge clearly what the risk is, but 
often we shall take the risk, thus striving to bear one another's 
burdens. We shall say: "Up, fellow struggler! I too am 
strained, striving, staggering; but I have a firm footing just 
here. Give me thy hand. Up, now! 'One failure is not final!' 
One shame eats not up a whole life! Quit we us like men; be 
strong! Show me the way to thy virtues, and I will try to tell 
thee how to come by mine." Can there be a greater fellow- 
burden-bearing than this ? Though we be pressed down as with 
mountains, they yield like sand hills before water if a fellow- 
being turn on them a current of hope and trust, that we may 
arise and stand, and be loved. 

A fourth manner of bearing one another's burdens in this 
kind is to remember faithfully the kind, that they are secret 
burdens, sorrows of soul, weights of transgression, not visible or 
outward, but past and sunk in the soul. We help bear the 
burden when we keep the secret. Hath the burdened one re- 
vealed his load to us? What duty more sacred or more hon- 
orable than to keep it ? If we tell it, if it escape us loosely, we 
sin worse than that sinner. Have we discovered by some ad- 



134 BUEDEN-BEAEING. 

venture ? It hath come to us in some way on the wind's wing ? 
Then no less holy is the duty to keep it, for then God hath 
made us a confidant. Either way we stand entrusted. Whether 
the burdened one confide in us or God invest us with it, we are 
trustees of it. How base to scatter it! What a breach of honor 
to be spendthrift of it ! Surely it needs little heart or soul to 
see that in measure as we have good in ourselves we shall carry 
another's evil behind us to hide it, not before us to display it. 
This faithfulness of silence and secret care, which is honor and 
love, is one of the greatest, ah! too, most rare, ways of bearing 
hidden burdens for one another. 

Finally, the fifth manner in which we may bear one an- 
other's burdens of conscience- sorrow is by a heavenly moral fact 
which I may call exchange of burdens. Who has not burdens ? 
If Hay mine in thy lap, lo! thou hast thine own. Therefore to 
bear one another's burdens is to exchange them. 

Here now is one of the great wonders and beauties of our 
moral being, which often I have had cause to gaze on with ad- 
miration and awe; I mean the ease with which we may forgive 
another if there be nobility in us, when we can not forgive our- 
selves by reason of that same noble spirit. Hence it happens 
that when two friends bound close in heart or by events, or bet- 
ter if it be by both, have some weary troubles of conscience 
which hang, and load, and weigh down the neck, then they may 
exchange these in a way so wonderful and so comforting that to 
pass their burdens from one to the other is like destroying the 
weight of them. For when the moral burden of one is unyoked 
from his neck and hung on the other, behold, it seems but a 
light burden to him who has taken it; and so with his own 
burden which has been transferred to the other, for though he 
would not forgive himself for that sin, yet still he sees that his 
friend sinned less in it than he would have sinned in doing it, 
because of a nature in his friend which did in some way cover 
up its quality from him, or make it seem less evil, or opened 
vast and overwhelming temptation. Wherefore in looking at 
his friend in this kind light, he finds the moral burden which 
bears down his friend's neck almost to falling and pitching head- 
long by the way, but a light thing on his own shoulders, and he 
loves his friend the more for his confession, and bids him good 



BUEDEN-BEABING. 135 

cheer, and gives him a hand that never lets go, and the twain go 
on bearing one another's burdens and finding them light by love. 
For as A Kempis has said: "Love beareth a burden and mak- 
eth it no burden." And not only love, I add, but love and con- 
science and judgment conjoined ; for by these a man can see bet- 
ter and farther for his friend out of the high tower of his heart 
than his friend can see for himself. Wherefore, I say, this is a 
wonderful and admirable fact in our moral nature, and thank- 
fulness starts up when we look at it, namely, that though we be 
bowed down to the ground with shame and sorrow for sins and 
errors, a friend may lift them to his own neck and find but 
light weight in them, and see no more than that his friend hath 
a devout and tender conscience, for which he loves him the bet- 
ter. This is one of the great glories of love and true hearted- 
ness; for in measure as persons become truly heart- bound to- 
gether in good conscience, in faithful fellowship and deep feeling, 
they may share in deep things and lay their hand on one anoth- 
er's burdens of very serious and great kinds not to be touched 
nor even known or suspected by those who explore only the out- 
er courts of each other's affections. And this makes us think 
again what a wonderous, divine, holy and altogether mystical, 
shining and unsearchable thing love is, which hath been set in 
us out of the heart of God. 

I have tried, to this point, to set forth the gospel of burden 
bearing in secret burdens of mind related to the past, which are 
moral burdens ; the gospel that we must bear these burdens for 
ourselves and none can escape, yet that also we may bear them 
for each other by humility of spirit, by a large manner of sym- 
pathy, by hope and trust, by keeping the secret holily, and by 
the love which may exchange burdens. We live in wonders of 
mercy, for in these secret burdens, though each is compelled 
to bear his own, nor can escape at all, yet in these also we may 
bear one another's burdens, as if in truth by love we may become 
one in God. 



I come now to secret burdens which relate to the present: 
These are of all kinds, being the private sorrow or pain 



136 BURDEN-BEARING. 

which may affect us from many kinds of experiences, moral, or 
of the heart or in outward affairs. 

But al these kinds fall into two general classes, convenient 
for treatment: 

1. Serious or noble burdens. 

2. Petty or ignoble burdens. 

First, of the noble burdens. These are of three kinds: 

1. Moral burdens, by falls or failures, or by besetting 
temptations. 

2. Sorrows of the heart. 

3. Disappointment amid difficulties and struggles in life. 
These, now, I will treat by asking, as heretofore, the three 

questions by which we are examining the subject of burden- 
bearing. 

The first question is: How much ought a man to bear 
this kind by himself and hide it in his own heart. I answer, as 
before that, with respect to moral burdens, he must bear them; 
he can not throw them off or load them on others at will. 
Though he make himself like one dead, devoured in labor or 
riotings, he must come to himself some time and know he is eat- 
ing husks, swine-food, and feel the burden of it. With respect 
to sorrow and disappointment, I answer, as before, that a man 
must bear his own burdens as much as he can, bravely, man- 
fully, striving not to spread them over other persons, to pack not 
others' shoulders with them, but to carry his own burden with 
simplicity and piety. Yet in these secret burdens, loads of heart, 
soul, mind, as in the open and visible burdens of which I have 
spoken, I would forbid not the unity of love, the sacred shar- 
ing of friendship. 'Tis but human to lay one's head on a friend's 
bosom sometimes; and if we did not, where at last were the 
bosom of love? It would waste, dry and vanish, being unused. 
But while thus we may tell our burdens in this kind and may 
look to a friend to take them into his heart with us, where we 
may lay them down a little while and be warmed and blest, 
this must be done manfully, with a brave reserve of speech and 
tone and a beautiful dignity. The head must be laid down like 
strength for rest, not like weakness for support, or beggary for 
gain. For as it is of human love to seek sympathy, so it is of 
piety to take our burdens up alone and bear them, as unto God ; 



BURDEN-BE AKING. 137 

and while we may go to human love for comfort and the prec- 
iousness of fellow heart-beats, yet we ought to do so in the 
strength of the piety, with a brave as well as a tender front, 
a devout no less than a loving heart. 'Tis well said by Margaret 
Fuller that "there is some danger lest there be no real religion 
in the heart which craves too much daily sympathy." 

I come herewith to our second question touching these secret 
burdens of the mind related to the present moment, namely: 
"How much ought we to bear each other's burdens in this kind? 
I answer, like as before, as much as we can ; and for the same rea- 
son, that the freedom and the duty of the heavenly heart are one 
and have no bounds. Moral burdens, heart sorrows, strength- 
straining under struggles, these are noble burdens. 'Tis one of 
the bounties of spiritual life that we are able to bear them for 
each other ; which is to say, we may lighten them by our ministry 
to one another, and then all will be helped and all burdens 
lightened, each one by each. 

There are two means in chief by which thus these invisible 
burdens may be borne for one another. The first means is 
sympathy, on which I need not dwell because I have said much 
of it already touching visible burdens and the secret moral bur- 
dens of memory. Only this I will say again, that sympathy 
includes a very great store of good offices. Many kinds of heart- 
food are garnered in that large granary. It holds carefulness, 
trustfulness, loving counsel, thoughtfulness, fairness of judg- 
ment, cheerfulness, steadfastness and much other nourishment 
for hungry hearts. And all come to feed at these bins. "Pity 
and need," 'tis said well, " make all flesh kin. There is no caste 
in blood, which runneth of one hue, nor caste in tears, which 
trickle salt with all." 

The other chief means by which we are able to bear one 
another's burdens in this kind, and indeed in all kinds, is by a law 
of general and reacting effect which rules in every place where 
there is fellow burden-bearing. For to bear another's burden is 
to lighten our own; for while a man is busy with a friend's 
burden, he can not be attentive to his own. Now, there is no 
way to lighten one's burden so excellent as to withdraw the mind 
from it. If the mind then not only be turned from the 
load on us, but fixed on strong and beautiful things, then not 



188 BURDEN-BEARING. 

only it rests from its burden but gathers strength to return to it ; 
and to go back to the load with more strength is the same as to 
find it lighter. Now to what can the mind fix itself more beau- 
tiful than love, or more strong and beautiful than love in exercise 
bearing the burdens of another? Therefore when we turn away 
from our own burden to put hands to another's by sympathy, by 
loving counsel and faithful cheer, we get such strength by that 
ministry to another, that it is the truth that he too, by our 
very devotion to him, becomes to us, in the wonder-working of 
God, a minister, and lifts at our burden by our very own lifting 
at his. 

From the means whereby we may bear one another's bur- 
dens, we turn to the manner of doing it. Here arises the third 
question. In what way or manner ought we to offer or try to 
help bear another's burden in this kind? — that is, in secret, in- 
visible, inward burdens relating to the present moment. 

The answer is, first and best, With a lowly and simple spirit, 
and not thinking of ourselves as doing any fine thing. For oth er- 
wise we can lift no burdens of any kind. But on this I need 
dwell no more. Another answer, and very useful is: Take up 
another's burden beautifully, handsomely, with a fine grace. 
Either so, or touch it not. Which is but to say that if we lay 
hand to another's burden at all, we must do so in such manner 
as to bear it; which means lighten it, not add to it; bear it up, 
not bear down with it. If a burden be taken for us grudingly, 
ungraciously, severely, with fault-finding and reproaches, the 
manner of taking the burden is made a greater burden than the 
burden, and the load rather is pressed down on us than lifted 
or lightened. 

Grace of behavior, that reverence for human nature and de- 
ference to a soul which exalts an act of help to be like a corona- 
tion and makes the gift of a trifle like the bestowal of a kingdom 
— how beautiful it is ! Shakespeare speaks of " King-becoming 
graces, — devotion, patience, courage, fortitude;" but these are 
man-becoming graces — every man a king! — and if I add respect- 
fulness, humility, delicacy (though I know not but these be all 
the same quality with different names), I have carved the very 
stature of manly grace. This grace must come of the soul. It 
is not the follower of place or possession. "Biches," it has been 



BUEDEN-BE AKENG. 139 

said truly, " may enable us to confer favors; but to confer them 
with propriety, and grace requires a something that riches can 
not give." Not all "the wealth of Ormus or of Ind, " barbaric 
pearl and gold," can lift one little finger- weight of secret burdens 
of the mind ; but a little grace in us may sweep another's burden 
upward as a breeze catches up a cloud from the earth — a dark 
fog here, but thus lifted into the upper sun-beam, a white silver 
light. It is with good meaning that in the poetry of the Greeks 
the three Graces always were seen 'linked aod tied hand in 
hand,' thus imaging the tying of man to man which grace 
brings to pass; and the three sisters ever were pictured all un- 
robed, meaning that kindness must be very simple and sincere 
and delicate of mind, without covering or pretence, lest it come 
true, as has been said, that sympathy be " but a mixture of good 
humor, curiosity and self-importance." 

It is another point, if we be to share one another's burdens, 
that we should act so as to draw others to admit us to their 
burdens and share them with us. This we must do according 
to the degree of the nearness of the person to us. It needs no 
enforcing and hardly the saying that if we be to give help in 
burden-bearing, we must not be so forbidding in it, so unsympa- 
thetic in manner, so unopen in face that burdens will hide from 
us as if affrighted — I mean men will keep them from us, not 
show them to us. This is a great point regarding parents 
toward children. If it be true, as has been averred, that "it is 
the most beautiful object the eye of man can behold to see a 
man of worth and his son live in an entire unreserved corres- 
pondence," how can this be unless the father be a natural 
attraction to his son, drawing him to bring his burdens no less 
than joys unto that sweet converse, assured by divination and 
natural trust as well as by experience that his burden shall not 
be made heavier by that communication. But if the father so 
act, however justly if it be justice with a frown, or hold himself 
so distant and high and strong, that to bring a burden to him is 
as great a burden as the burden, or even more dreadful, what 
has the son left to him but a cold cell of secrecy? It is naught 
but attraction that brings the child to the parent, standing up 
heart-high like a freeman ; aught else, whether it be called disci- 
pline or duty or whatsoever, only lays him at the feet bound 



140 BURDEN-BEARING. 

like a slave. I have observed that it is not fear of penalty or 
punishment which withholds the child from confidence and 
makes him dread bringing to view any burden, be it a fault or 
whatever — not punishment but the heart- sickness of talking to 
an unconceiving ear, the abasement of being berated, the scour- 
ges of black frowns, the spurns of cold scorn. Till the fire of 
doom the parent may cry, "I command you to come to me. 
Your confidence is required. I enjoin you to bring your bur- 
dens and temptations unto me" — and he will move his son's will 
not a jot; but if so he act and so he be in himself and hath such 
a heart that it is the son's own will to come to him, he hath the 
boy's whole heart; and with the hand of age, which ' hath let go 
some hold of earth for heaven, he may bear up the burdens of 
youth that yet hath come to no heaven unless he find it in his 
father's age. 

Among the sorrows of life, the heart-burdens, the hardest 
are the evil deeds of those who are precious to us, but go astray. 
When children fall to wantonness, to dishonor, ruin, when 
friends, lovers, parents, are overthrown with vices and disgrace, 
then indeed is laid a very heavy burden, then "if one look into 
the land behold darkness and sorrow!" then "gray hairs are 
brought down with sorrow to the grave!" then do women mourn, 
a Behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow!" 
What shall be done with these heavy burdens? May they be 
shared ? Shall we open them, these shames of our beloved, that 
other beloved may help us bear the burden ? These griefs are 
noble enough to be shared — the noblest of all sorrows. Yet, 
for loyalty, they must be shared very little, and never except 
with the very closest and dearest who have great rights in us, 
nor with them ever merely to get sympathy or condolence. For 
it is loyal and faithful to hide misdeeds and shames. As a man . 
will shield a woman or child from blows with his body, so must 
we cover the faithless or shamed with our silent souls. 

Therefore, though a man may help another (who may be 
willing) bear such burdens as these, yet he ought to will that no 
one shall help him bear them, but he will carry them alone. 

Also sometimes we have no way but to bear alone if we will 
bear the least ; for there are some burdens which are made heav- 
ier by communication of them. This is a principle which often 



BURDEN-BE AEING. 141 

I have pondered ; yet with no light or explanation occurring to 
me equal to the depth of the fact. Why is it indeed that some of 
the saddest sorrows of life most easily are borne all alone? 
Why is it that some heavy griefs become heavier and not lighter 
if shared ? I say I have thought often and fervently of this 
fact in our moral nature, and sometimes with wonder, as of a 
noble trait placed in us by nature, or I should say nature's 
Lord, the Life that worketh in nature — a noble trait, I say, be- 
cause it seems to acknowledge, yes, and to lay stress on, the 
dignity, the inaccessible place, the holy region of personality. 
And yet it seems strange that some things become heavier if we 
share them, and are borne most easily in silence and secret, 
none knowing, none being invited to share or bear with us; 
strange that there are things in which we cannot bear one 
another's burdens without adding to the weight of them. Seeing 
this fact in some sorrows, I have asked myself at times what 
kinds of sorrows, and how many, they are which best can be 
borne all alone, to share which is to make them heavier. Now 
it seems to me that these sorrows, when they are noble ones, 
are all of one kind, namely, the pains which come from unloyal 
treatment by friends, and especially by our near kith and kin, as 
by wife or husband or child or brother or sister. The principle 
seems to be that when one of these is unloyal, still we must be 
loyal. As the stoic said, " Beware of behaving to the cruel as 
they behave to others," so must we say in this case that we are 
not to be unloyal to the unloyal. Therefore these sorrows are 
they, or at least the chief of them, which to share makes them 
more heavy, because then we add to the pain the evil, and there- 
fore the new or other pain, of our own unloyalty; and it is a 
very sad thing to be unloyal, and a hard thing to bear the sense 
of it. Wherefore let all families beware not to grumble of each 
other to other persons ; and especially let those who stand near- 
est, however they be grieved, or wrung, or brought to death, keep 
it to themselves in solemn dignity and by reason of the purity of 
loyalty; for so they will suffer less. Indeed I will liken the sor- 
rows that come by unloyal disclosure of the cruelty or harshness 
of those who ought to be the tenderest and kindest — I liken 
these sorrows I say, to a kind of rampant seed of weeds, seeds 
already tufted and waiting only the waft of the breath of a word 



142 BUEDEN-BEAEING. 

to fly no one knows whither and bear an endless crop of dishon- 
ors, pains troubles, remorses, past all prevention and control. 
More than this, there is a dignity in bearing such sorrows alone 
which has power in the mind to lighten and, if I may say so, 
give honor to the pain. 

I come now to petty or ignoble burdens. These are so 
many and so bad in their affect on us, that sometimes I think 
we hardly should know we had burdens but for the teasing 
of the mean and petty kinds, the plague of ignoble heaviness. 
For, however heavy be the grand sorrows of life, the noble and 
divine burdens, being noble, in that measure their dignity weighs 
up the pain and heaviness of them, like a little gold in one 
scale-pan outweighing a heap of earth in the other. For if a 
burden be a noble sorrow, the pain of it is not so great nor its 
heaviness such a load as its dignity is divine and its nobility an 
elevation. If we be called to great sorrows, it is a divine fact 
and glory in us that we are capable of them. To be given 
charge of a burden which is a noble sorrow, is so high a thing 
in God's providence that it is not like a loading of our backs but 
rather a coronation of our heads, showing us to be the King's 
children, because we must learn to bear the weight of a prince's 
crown. But the petty, ignoble burdens, heaped on us by a mu- 
tinous spirit, an unreverent, muttering, unobedient mind under 
difficulties or trials, bemoaning basely or taking sullenly the 
hard places in our lots — these are ills so mean and sordid that 
they are dead weight. They make us like pedlars loaded with 
heavy packs of worthless things. 

These ignoble loads, being not sorrows of heart, nor moral 
burdens, nor hard and high struggles, are little hindrances in 
affairs, vexations, frictions, — the inevitable small nets, mazes, 
rubs, clogs, lurches, mishaps, weariness, retardments, discour- 
agements, incident to any station or task. Concerning these 
now we will ask the questions which have guided us hitherto in 
this subject: 

The first is, How much ought a man to bear his own burdens 
in this kind? The answer is, Wholly and altogether. No one 
ought to be willing to load others with his petty troubles, fric- 
tions, chagiins, dejections. The right rule is that only noble 
burdens may be opened to another; the small tediums, blots and 



BUEDEN-BEAEING. 143 

blurs, forlornesses, disrelishes, discomforts, displeasures, irrita- 
tions, chafings which fly around every one, ought to be taken 
quietly and silently by each one for himself, and never passed 
on to a comrade, never prated of. For to talk of them is to 
busy with buzzings of petty nothings the tongue which may be 
full of eloquence, an entertainer of grand things, an organ of 
blissful poetry or patient piety. How paltry and unreligious it 
is, while the heavens rain glories, to pick up from the earth and 
hand to each other these small galls and cramps! Besides, 
what gain is there? If you may let loose your flies of small 
smarts on your friend, he may turn out his gnats of little 
twinges on you. So each then is beset with two swarms, and 
belike the clamors of the fretting insects will make an unprayer- 
ful din in your ears. You may exchange noble burdens, and 
lighten them ; but you can not exchange these petty things ; for if 
you hatch the eggs of them under your tongue, they come to 
such a swarm that still there is a cloud of them for you as well 
as for your neighbor, and you receive his swarm also. I say 
such small burdens are not worthy of being borne for one an- 
other. Each one should bear his own. This is simple dignity 
and unselfishness. 

This should be the rule for partners in that enterprise or 
business which is called "married life.'* For if they 
communicate the noble, spiritual, heroic burdens, putting away 
every small ado quietly, they will live in a high region, with a 
"Pisgah-sight" of life, which will draw forth their love and fel- 
lowship in a like noble measure and beauty. 

What then of the second question? — which is, How much 
ought we to bear one another's burdens in this kind? This is 
answered in the answer to the first question, and the answer is, 
In no measure. We ought to refuse to bear such burdens for 
another. We should resist the laying of them on us. If any 
will be so little dignified as to discharge on us the washings 
of his petty difficulties and the drippings of his grumb- 
lings, we ought to refuse to be a sink for such matters. 

But you will say "Are we not to bear with the depressions 
of our friends." No indeed, not against reason. Those dol- 
orous moods called "the horrors," "the dismals," "the blues " 
("Moping melancholy," says Milton; "Supine and sottish des- 



144 BURDEN-BE AEING. 

pondencies," says Jeremy Taylor) , are impious frowns and wag- 
gings of the tongue against the skies. And are we to listen to 
impieties? These moods ought not to be borne, either by 
friends or by sociable companions. If there be good reason for 
the heaviness, then it is a noble burden and therefore may be 
shared and borne for one another. If there be no worthy rea- 
son, but the mood is only self-indulgence, then it is not to be 
borne nor respected, nor the selfish nurse of his own little 
glooms be allowed to spread a darkness over another's heart or 
over a company. He should be disciplined by social exile, qui- 
etly left to himself without sympathy, because his pettiness is 
beneath sympathy, nor worthy of more than pity. For sympa- 
thy is a meat for a kingly heart, not a slop for a moping 
beggar. 

If now no one has claim on another to help bear ignoble 
burdens of mind, petty discontents, paltry displeasures, may any 
one be allowed to make himself a burden to another by babyish 
waywardness, childish wiles, flickerings, demurrings, coyings, 
whims, fits, crotchets. I answer that no one may be allowed. 
It is our right to be nursed while we have a baby mind in a baby 
body. But if a person will have a baby inconstancy in a grown 
body, he should be left to nurse his own whimseys. No one 
should consent to be burdened with his freaks, or give any heed 
to his "mysterious difficulty to be pleased." For there is no 
way to bring any one to a true human estate or to do any jus- 
tice, but to require of them adult duties of soul when they have 
come to an adult body. Be cautioned, I pray you, that I coun- 
sel no unkindness, no reproaches, no scorn or coldness. I say 
only that the childish, the pouting, inconstant, toying, should 
not be given serious places or asked to wise counsels, till, by 
the discipline of being left out firmly, they awake to earn the 
consideration which unearned they should not have. 

'Tis the same with the ill-tempered and nagging; no one 
should bear with them except kindly \o be silent towards them. 
They should not be sought for company, nor given place or 
power; for this is to extend petulance or tartness or rudeness 
into an influence, and grants a testy tyranny to any one who 
will usurp it. 

The rule is the same for those dispositions which will do naught 



BTJBDEN-BEARING. 145 

without being coaxed. Some persons, I have observed, require to 
be coaxed and entreated to anything; whatever it be, before 
they will take it, they must be besought, — even unto the pleas- 
ures and benefits which are provided for them. Thus they lay a 
heavy tax of patience, time and strength on every one to whom 
they vouchsafe anything. I counsel that no one should be 
coaxed. I think it very harmful even to coax children. 'Tis 
but warming the nest of self-importance for a brood of little van- 
ities. But especially grown persons never should be coaxed • for 
to require to be coaxed is a fantastic, contrary, childish tyranny, 
not to be allowed but disciplined. When nature hath bestowed 
years on us, we owe the interest which is discretion, to the goodly 
company wherein nature hath set us; and the payment must 
be required. 

'Tis the same with those who have done to us very faithless 
acts, shuffling away not only the office and seemliness of man- 
hood but the precious fealties and engagements of love — as I 
have counseled in treating of "Forgiveness." Such truants or 
egotists or worldly-minds, whichever they be, should not be 
coaxed, followed, besought, but left alone where it has pleased them 
to place themselves, until, unnoticed and unentreated, ' it please 
them to come back. For we must not increase self-consequence 
by beseeching it. 

What then? Do I counsel harshness, punishment, reprisal? 
By no means, I counsel only a gentle steadiness, which will do 
or say no harsh thing, but neither will bow itself to make a ty- 
rant by bearing tyranny. If these principles be received brave- 
ly, as just and due, then I say, as in every such point I have 
said, that any soul which has the unselfish purity and devotion 
to long to know the right action in any case, will know it. The 
principle is that adult children should not be borne with as fit- 
ting burdens, but disciplined; and this not less for their own sake 
than for ours; and the discipline should not be reproaches, harsh 
outcries, punishments, but a making of their self-important 
waywardness and baby wantonness a solitude for them, till they 
grow tired of the silence and return to their kind with a mind 
fit for company. 

I come now to the last division of the invisible burdens of 
mind, those which relate to the future. These are: 1. Not 



146 BURDEN-BEARING. 

moral burdens ; 2. Not sorrow of heart ; 3. Not difficulties, 
struggles nor disappointment from them; for all these can be 
but in memory or experience at the present moment. The bur- 
dens that pertain to the future are fears, concern, painful fore- 
boding. Now these burdens of forelooking must be either about 
events or about persons. If about events, fears of mishaps that 
may occur, this is but an unmanly pack for a man to load him- 
self withal, a mere lack of faith and of good human cheerfulness. 
"As it is presumption and arrogance," says Dr. Johnson in his 
big Latin way, "to anticipate triumphs, it is weakness and 
cowardice to prognosticate miscarriages. " This kind of forebod- 
ing is an ignoble burden, which therefore neither should be har- 
nessed on one's own neck nor borne for another. If the bur- 
den of the future be regarding persons, some of the thousand 
anxieties touching fate or character which love gathers to our 
eyes around heads precious to us, this is heart pain, and digni- 
fied ; therefore worthy to be borne for one another. 

With these burdens of the future, therefore the answers to our 
three questions are plain: 1. That mere forebodings about 
events are weakness, and not only should be borne unshared, 
but a man nobly should rid himself of them, for his whole 
duty in religion is to deal manfully with the present, and a con- 
scientious forecast is not the same thing as foreboding cries. 2. 
That anxieties about beloved persons should be borne for each 
other as much as we can. 3. That the way is by delicacy of 
sympathy, and tenderness, and a manner obtained in its perfec- 
tion only from a deep reverence for the human heart. No more 
need I say on burdens related to the future, because all that has 
been said of other burdens will apply to these also. 

One thought to conclude ; and what must this be but a com- 
mon thought? For can one go on any exploration without com- 
ing back to the common? For the common is the great and 
universal. Whence it happens that I am landed again, or rath- 
er I would say havened and harbored, in the thought of love 
as containing all the principle and science of this text, "Bear ye 
one another's burdens" and "Each man shall bear his own bur- 
den." Thus it is: First, love should wish to share burdens; or 
rather I would say, by its nature must wish, for else it is not 
love, however it pretend. Love, then, I say, must wish to 



BURDEN-BEARING. 147 

share sorrows, perforce must long to bear one another's burdens. 
But, agan, love should not wish to impose burdens, or rather, 
as before, I must say, love can not wish; for it is love's 
nature to comfort, cheer and save. Wherefore love will be un- 
willing to give a burden to be borne, and yet love also can not 
rest nor be in any quiet until it do seize the other's burden to 
bear it, or, if not to take it all, then to share in it so that the 
twain may lift it together. Now what follows if these two be 
put together in right measures? — that is, if there be the im- 
pulse to take the burden, on the one side, and again the im- 
pulse not to impose the burden, each excellent in its kind and 
degree — what I say follows then? Surely this follows, that 
then the noble burdens will be shared and borne one for another, 
and the petty burdens will be dropped out of sight. If this be 
true, then one must cry, "What a solvent, what a reconciler and 
ruling power love is !" For here in the very nature of simple 
love is involved the most proper and reasonable principle of the 
bearing of one another's burdens. By love itself , that is, by its 
very nature and by what simply it is, if it be in the heart at all, 
we see that the noble burdens will be borne one for another, 
because it is the nature of love that it must take up the load ; 
and the petty burdens will be dropped on the way and trodden 
under foot as we go, because it is the nature of love that it shall 
not impose burdens but save and shield. Is not this a glorious look 
into the nature of our hearts; wherein the more I look, the more 
do I see the image of the earthly and the heavenly together, of 
all joys and all sorrows and all duties combined in one image, 
which is the face of God. 



A HAPPY NEW YEAE. 



"A happy New Year!" I take my text from the lips of 
men. 

All around us men are saying this to each other. Doth not 
each one know for himself that he says it with honest sympathy 
for the joys and sorrows that may visit his brother man in the 
unknown future! 

Nature, through the long winter, continues the same glad 
saying with a prophecy. The flowers closed their eyes to rest 
after the summer carnival. The trees have laid by their attire 
and sleep in healthful weariness after the festivities. The earth 
slumbers. All is hush and rest, save the ticking of the frost 
work as its crystals shoot. The meadow-brook is encased with a 
chilly glass, the foam is spun into a frost web, the expansion of 
the freezing water-veins loosens the rocks with sharp reports. 
Thus ticks nature's clock measuring the hours of her night of 
rest. But rest is preparation ; preparation is prophecy. Nature 
sleeps only till again the wedding morning dawns, the spring. 
Then in speedy decoration clad, the trees and flowers attend the 
marriage of the lusty sun, robed with gold-laced clouds, to the 
tender earth, veiled for her bridal in modest mist. 

The New Year greeting is cyclical, rolling round with the 
earth until whirled back again to its uttering term. I count 
everything of no little value which lays down rules, cycles, periods 
and punctuality in life. Some persons, indeed, despise all this, 
or affect to, and if bound to any stated seasons, murmur therein 
or strain at them. But rule and regularity is nature's way — 
everywhere recurrence and stated return. Therefore, they who 
will not have rule in life, or in work, learn not nature's lesson 
and hear not her instruction, but go against her. This is sure 



150 A HAPPY NEW YEAR, 

to come to little, often to nothing. Nay, it would always come 
to nothing if all were to do the same. If they who shut out 
nature's regularity, gather or come to achievement, as may 
happen, it is because they are few, and all the others work well- 
gartered with rules. This is like the prosperity of the dishonest, 
who would have no chance but for the honest. Moreover, it is 
the cycle of time and of the seasons that makes associations, and 
associations are dwellings of sacred things, birthdays, wedding- 
days, death-days. Fair and wonderful are the diurnal and 
annual revolutions of the earth, which bring morning and night 
and all the recurring seasons. We may imagine time as reeled 
off from an enormous wheel, each length of the web, once around 
the wheel, made in the same pattern and in arks of familiar 
colors, recognized as they are unrolled. Some important begin- 
ning in our life happened in Spring, or in Summer, Autum, or 
Winter. The next time the season comes the earth puts on the 
same attire to celebrate our festival. I have known a wife cel- 
ebrate the tenth anniversary of marriage by wearing her bridal 
dress — but not always is it a pretty thing, because past fashions 
look grotesque. A smile of amusement rises more readily, may- 
hap, than poetic sympathy. But nature, who is satisfied with 
her four robes of green, gold, brown and ermine, can attend us 
after fifty years in the colors and fashions, of our wedding day. 

Days of great associations fall pathetically mingled. Your 
joy-day may be my woe- day. But nature has heart and voice 
for us all, and all at once. The breeze, although but one voice, 
and the more articulate organs of beast and bird, whisper strange 
differences to different ears and are "all things to all men." By the 
recurring seasons, the loving spirit in nature surprises us, as it 
were, out of secrets, joyful or sad, which we would not coufess 
to a human being. But the divine heart shares them with us, 
and treasures them in the pages of siderial time, which, perforce, 
we must turn over and read once a year. Wherefore I say I like 
the New Year greeting, because everywhere it comes, and in the 
morning it wakes saying: Now is the day to take this especial 
delight of comradeship. We take it and are the better. But with- 
out the season, we should run to our labors, as commonly, and be 
poorer for lack of the greeting. The greeting, being honest, can 
not be purchased, and is much to give, nor less to receive. 



A HAPPY NEW YEAR. 151 

A happy New Year! Why should not the kindly wish be 
prophecy for us, as surely as the winter rest ushers in the golden 
summer ? Why should not the year be happy ? Surely if we 
say, "A happy New Year to you," it is as much a congratulation 
as a wish ; a song of trust, an act of faith ! There is a great good 
cheer in this, that the happiness which we bid another, we may 
take in part for granted ; for we should be little like to wish joy for 
the future if the past had been all grievous, or to look for light 
if life were shut in a cave. Therefore, to say, Be the future 
happy, is the same as to say, We have had acquaintance with joy 
and know it, and therein already are happy. This is so good 
and useful that the festival of New Year greeting belongs to the 
human heart, not to any particular religion, or faith, or form. 
It is older than Christianity, and no stranger in many different 
zones. The ancients sent gifts to each other at this season, with 
hopes and fancies that they might be omens of success. For 
which reason and because of the idolatrous rites of the celebra- 
tion, the ancient fathers of the Church, as the Chronicler has it, 
"did vehemently inveigh against the observation of the calends 
of January." But the human heart which was parent of the 
festival was the grandfather who overcame the fathers, and the 
festival has survived. Northern nations indeed delighted in it 
with so much jollity that it gave name to their years; they reck- 
oned their age by Iolas, which in the Gothic language means 
merry-making. Our poetry has a like grateful grace when it 
counts age by summers — so many summers old. Surely a Iola, 
a joyful greeting time, is an excellent date for reckoning. Many 
calenders begin in Iolas; epochs are great joy times, or glory 
times, for men reckon from Iolas, not from mischiefs; like the 
Anno Urbis of Borne, or the Anno Domini of the Christian, glories 
of history or faith. In this the Hebrews far excell all others; 
for they date from the creation, which surely was the greatest of 
all Iolas.* 

* Yet I know not that this always is so. For the Parsees set their era at 
their overthrow, when Yasdegerd was killed, the people scattered, and the 
religion penetrated by Islam. This seems a strange exception whim I know 
not how to understand. But when a sorrow takes the place in national life 
which commonly a joy or a success holds, surely it is because fortitute, valor 
and unsubdued life so have flourished and overmastered the woe that, while 
the empire fell, faith flew up and away from the ruins. For which view it is 
some ground that the Parasees still worship in their fire temple, having kept 
the ancient faith high and pure ; and I have read it is part of their religion to 



152 A HAPi>Y NEW YEAB. 

I have read of a singular genius long before the days of re- 
peaters, who wished to enable himself to tell the time by his dial at 
night. So he made a clock with a very large dial having hollow 
figures which he filled with various jellies and sweet-meats of diff- 
erent flavors. Then in the night, by taking a bit of the confection 
in the figure to which the hand of the clock pointed, he could taste 
the time. A genial invention at any rate, and with a good allegory 
in it. For are not the ages marked off by just such sweetened and 
flavored hours or epochs ? Is not the Christian era, from which 
we date, such a honey-filled figure on the dial ? Is not the Co- 
pernican astronomy another? Are not the rise of printing, the 
discovery of America, the birth of chemistry, the American Rev- 
olution, all such sweetened indicators on Time's dial ? Can we 
not taste them in nights of revolts and wars and tyrranies and 
famines, and cry out, "The night is far spent, the morning 
cometh?" 

Up then at this season! Let hope be crowned! Read 
Milton's L'Allegro! We shall cope with the evils all the better 
if we drown them for a day in the taste of the sweets of prophecy 
that mark this hour. What "trips it on the light fantastic toe" 
if not Time? Time, an old man, a deciepit old totterer with a 
scythe? Why, he is the most staunch-footed and sturdiest young 
farmer, mowing down a year as if it were the stalk of a second, 
and plowing, seeding and reaping another like a miracle. But 
what shall be reaped by our neighborhood, our city, our country, 
the world, in this New Year? When the seasons have gone 
over it ''like a tale that is told," what will be the harvest? Ah! 
that hangs in a measure on each one of us. Which is good ; for 
who would be such a beggar as to let a year pass without so 
much as the pressure of his finger on it in any way — neither the 
better nor the worse for him? But who can do aught against 
the good, even if he would. He may seem to do much evil in a 
year, if he will, but in the heavenly arc of years, "going forth 
from the end of the heavens and their circuit unto the ends of 
it," he is naught. A German poet asks: "Will men ever write 
thus 'Anno Pomini eleven millions eighteen hundred ninety-one?' " 

fill the ten days before their New Year with many acts of charity, wherein, 
perhaps, may be a reminiscence of the strong but blossoming sorrow from 
which dates their era. 



A HAPPY NEW YEAR. 153 

Ah! that is a sobering question. A long time that, A. D. 
11001891 ; a long stretch to be ticked out one second at a time. 
Who can say anything of it? Who can judge ? What sybil can 
soothsay about that enormous sweep of time ? Yet we may fore- 
see much about A. D. 11001891. For no one can turn the years 
from their aim. One may set himself against "the stream of ten- 
dency" like a man against a mighty current; but the water only 
is heaped up a little on him, never stayed. The things which 
are the greatest things now will be the greatest things in A. D. 
11001891. Wherever we may be, or whatever may betide this 
old earth, no matter; the greatest things now will be the greatest 
things then. These greatest tilings are justice, goodness, kind- 
ness, human fellowship. Also, many things very great now will 
be very small then. It is not so easy to see what those things 
are which will dwindle; but it is fair to think that the power of 
mere individual accumulation, the might of riches, the vast in- 
equalities of distribution, the thirst for gain, the assembling of 
legislatures to enact thousands of laws every year, military glory, 
and many such-like things that now are mighty and seem grand, 
will shrink vastly or be gone after 11,000,000 years. Surely the 
the things that seem petty and trivial even now will have per- 
ished then. Will men grumble and whine, will women oppress 
themselves for fashion, will both join in petty social rivalries 
and mean emulations, at that far date? Truly, we think not! 
We hope much for humanity in a thousand, yea, in a hundred 
years. If we ask what the past most is full of, up leap to our 
memories wars and rumors of wars, empires, kings, parliaments, 
religions. But the past is fuller of one thing than of all of them 
together; it is full to the brim and pressed down and running 
over with prophecy, hope and good cheer for the future. 



And 



" All of good the past hath had 
Remains to make our own time glad.' 



" One accent of the Holy Ghost 
The heedless world has never lost. 



But all good things and all the spiritual voices are no more than 
heralds of the march of events on the road. Let us say it boldly, 
it is impossible to look forward and compute our inheritance. 



154 A HAPPY NEW YEAR. 

At least for this new and glad season, for a joyful hour now at 
the beginning, let all the sad things, the threatening things, the 
pains and sufferings and diseases and famines we are wrestling 
with, he swallowed up in the tide of our expectations. We have 
gained a kind of moral and spiritual gravity conferred by our 
long, slow climb up the hill of knowledge. Now all the powers 
of nature will help our swift gliding into the valley of peace and 
good will and plenty. It is impossible to dream the works which 
men may do on Nature and on themselves. 

Therefore, A happy New Year! A happy New Year! ex- 
claim you all. Let the church walls echo it! Surely we have 
fore-gleams of a better time coming! But the coming of a bet- 
ter goes far now to make a good. Why may not this year be a 
good herald of far coming years ? Why, indeed, should not the 
year be happy? 

Is it because our lot is poverty, privation, or even hardship? 
And have we not learned that not in having much but in using 
well what we have lies happiness; " that the rays of happiness, 
like those of light, aro colorless when unbroken ; " and that to the 
grateful mind the simplest things at home, the most homely and 
familiar matters, are food for gladness and thanksgiving ? 

Is it because we are driven to severe labor, wearisome toil? 
And have we not learned that work is our very life and power; 
that our enforced duties shield us from seductions of sloth or 
rioting; and that as we give our mind to our tasks, work with 
the heart and conscience, labor with love and by choice, not 
under lashes of necessity, our toil develops manliness; and the 
broom or the hammer, no less than the astronomer's tele- 
scope, leads us to knowledge of celestial relations ? 

Is it because our state is humble, we desire the praise and 
honor of men; wish for rank and power? And have we not 
learned as the poet saith that not, " happiness denied " but "hap- 
piness disdained " makes us wretched, — disdained because " she 
comes too meanly dressed to i win our smile, and calls her- 
self content, — a homely name?" Have we not learned that 
we ought to wish rather the praise of an instructed conscience, 
the true rank of noble character, the power of a pure spirit; that 
faithful work ever will reap reward in the end ; that if our pres- 
ent place be humble, we may all the more join a righteous am- 



A HAPPY NEW TEAR. 155 

bition with sweet content, keeping the top in view while the 
valley witnesses our industry and blooms under our feet? 

Is it because disappointment may visit us, our cherished 
plans fail ? And have we not learned that as outward things 
fall away we find ourselves) that disappointments and failures 
leave us closer to our own souls, make us feel the hidden depths 
and reality of the spirit, and teach us humility as we feel our- 
selves in the power of the Infinite and All? — As Griffith said of 
the fallen Cardinal, "His overthrow heaped happiness upon him; 
for then, and not till then, he felt himself, and found the blessed- 
ness of being little. " 

Is it because sickness may fall on us, wasting pain torment 
us? And have we not learned to welcome lessons of divine pati- 
ence, though the teaching be severe? Have we not learned that 
strength comes as we need it, that no burden can be too heavy? 
Know we not the sick and suffering whose peace, cheerfulness, 
and inward joy, rebuke the loud complaints of selfish health and 
thrift ? And seems not all nature brighter, earth and sky full of 
keen delights to the reviving senses of convalescence? He who 
giveth pleasure, shall he not also perfect us with pain ? 

Is it because we are lonely, but little affection shines on our 
path, there are none to speak the tender word or do the loving 
act? Yes, there are sad hours to such, lone longing, holy pas- 
sions, bitter tears. But have we not learned that within all 
shadows stands the Father, whose love abounds for the lonely, 
the desolate; who judges not by form, is not turned by circum- 
stances, and in good time, now, hereafter, here, somewhere, will 
bring that finite love to the heart which he has made us to long 
for so deeply? 

Is it because, if we have those who love us, death may 
divide us, or has divided us? Do we fear the pangs of parting, 
or remember them? God forbid that stoic maxims shame 
a single tear of mother, lover, or friend ? Over a loving soul the 
heavens stoop in holy benediction, and angel blessings fall as the 
snow. Yet, have we not learned what life means? Have we not 
found that our loved and lost have shown us life in its necessary 
continuity, each a Patmos-prophet to whom a door in the sky 
has opened, who tells, in such strains as no ear hears but our 
own, the things of the City of Life descending to the earth ? 



156 A HAPPY NEW YEAR. 

Is it because of difficult duty, strong temptation? And have 
we not learned that, in the conflict, God always is within call; 
that always we may conquer the difficult duty or strong tempta- 
tion if we will; and that, when we conquer, "its strength passes 
into us?" 

Is it because we are misunderstood, — victims of prejudice, 
misrepresentation ? And have we not learned that duty is its 
own high reward, and that naught can wrest from us His bless- 
ing whose eye scans the heart and knows the secret thought ? 

Is it because of our own moral insufficiency, imperfection, 
errors, sins? And have we not learned that we may hope and 
rise and strive again, in measure as we feel our falls humbly 
and sincerely; that the garden agony was followed by angel 
ministrations, and the hero went forth renewed, uplifted, peace- 
ful, triumphant ? To grieve deeply for un worthiness is to come 
to ourselves; and then let us arise, as children, and go to our 
Father; for from a great way off he will come to meet us. . 

Is it because we seem to do very little in the world, we can 
do nothing very fine or excellent, we seem of small service ? I 
have known persons suffer much from this cause. But surely 
this is not of faith. And doth it not vaunt our ignorance for 
knowledge, our small horizon for the infinite heavens? Have 
we not learned that no one who is faithful to duties in whatever 
lot, is useless; nay, that he is a valuable soldier and sentry in 
the Lord's army; that none who strives fails, for endeavor is the 
noblest success; that no one hath more of a place in God's 
providence than another ; that no mortal eye can see how far 
simple faithfulness spreads in His service ? Surely we know that 

"A man that looks on glass, 
On it may stay his eye, 
Or, if he pleaseth, through it pass, 
And then the heaven espy. 

All may'of Tbee partake ; 
Nothing can be so mean 
Which with this tincture, For Thy sake, 
Will not grow bright and clean. 

A servant with this clause 
Makes drudgery divine: 
Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws, 
Makes that and the action fine. 



A HAPPY NEW YEAR 157 

This is the famous stone 
That turneth all to gold ; 
For that which God doth touch and own 
Can not for less he told. 

If now there seem to Jbe no reasons (but bad ones, kinds of 
impiety) why this may not be a happy new year, let us ask con- 
cerning some of the plentiful means and sources of happiness. 

The first and best source of happiness is to know it lies not 
in outward conditions but in ourselves. For neither does it 
depend on having fine things, nor could it spring from having 
all we want; for, as well has been said, if once we were so 
wretched as to have all we wished, there would be naught left 
for us but to wish there were something else to wish for. Not 
in such things lies happiness; but in ourselves wholly; which is 
to say, in our manner of taking what is offered to us ; which is 
to say, in our state of heart, thankful or ingrate, pious or im- 
pious, reverent and lowly or bold and flaunting of ourselves. 
Happiness is an inward fact which outward condititions may 
serve but not create, and if not serving, still can not destroy. 

This is very simple, sober good sense, and a very common 
saying, that happiness lies in the state of mind, being aloof from 
outward conditions, which affect it not. Dr. Hedge has writ- 
ten, " Make tne earth a garden, drive want from the face of it, 
and ignorance and vice. Let competence be secured to all. 
Build palaces instead of huts, and let cities as lustrous as the 
New Jerusalem lift there domes into the skies attempered by art 
to perpetual blandness. Let their be no forced tasks, no chid- 
ing of the laggard will, no painful bracing up of the dissolute 
mind; but only duties which invite, and work which is play. 
Fashion a world after your own heart, and know that a day in 
that world will have the same proportion of joy and sorrow that 
a day has in this." If this be true, why is it so, but that happi- 
ness lies in the mind, not in conditions ? Who will gainsay, 
that happiness is somewhat which may be earned, but never 
bartered or got in exchange for some other thing. No lot but 
has materials of it, because it consists in the way the lot is 
taken; and truly I never saw any one unhappy in one place 
who was not discontented in all. Whatever affects life, religion, 
faith, trust, hope, touches the quick of happiness; for these are 
the very grounds of happiness whereon it is built, and if any- 



1 58 A HAPPY NEW YEA.E. 

thing shake them the house trembles. Kiches may come or go 
and joy be untouched. But it is not so whether love come or 
go, or whether it be ministered unto while it stays; and so with 
hope, and faith, and all properties of the soul. 

We must be active, and stir ourselves in all ways. For any 
mode of action may be made to serve happiness; therefore, the 
more we be active, and in the more ways, so long as we be not 
dispersed and dissipated, the more modes of happiness we shall 
have. We shall be happy if we store our minds with knowledge ; 
if we fill ourselves with the best thoughts of the grandest souls 
harvested for us in books ; if we study the facts of nature till 
her face becomes full of meaning for us, and the grain of sand, 
the water-drop, the rolling planets, all are joined by thoughts 
which hold the universe in them; if we turn the eye of observa- 
tion inward on ourselves, to learn the last lesson of knowledge 
and wisdom, the worship which is intelligent wonder; the relig- 
ious awe awaked by mystery divine. To be happy, also, we 
not only thus must, be stored well, own an enlarged and enlight- 
ened mind, but we must be active outwardly, use our knowledge 
usefully, acquiring thus still more mental training. Practi- 
cal work of some kind must engage us. Activity is itself hap- 
piness. The constant, useful exercise of strength, whether 
mental or physical, is as nececessary to happiness of soul as to 
health of body. I have heard of a tallow chandler, a philos- 
opher, a wise and a happy man I am sure, who in selling out 
and retiring from business, expressly reserved the right to visit 
his establishment and oversee the work " on melting days" 

But not only must the mind and body be active and the 
soul be putting forth itself in good ways and in many ways (the 
more ways the better, so that they overlie not each other, where- 
by all together keep each one ill-followed and half availed of) in 
order to have happiness, but there are many means and laws of 
being happy to be considered well. Very good means of happi- 
ness, of a general kind, are, 1. To know that it has its means, 
which must be observed; 2. Not to place it first; 3. To know 
that it may be reaped plentifully from very small fields and 
picked forth from little things; 4. To direct the eyes most to the 
best. 

How many persons — a multitude — spend their lives in com- 



A HAPPY NEW YEAR. 159 

plaints that they have not happiness or some good things, whereas 
they will not ask what the means are to obtain them, nor apply 
the means if they be told what they are. Such persons, if the 
truth be told, treat nature as thieves would a store-keeper if they 
should try to snatch, at their own price or for no payment, what 
the dealer has marked otherwise. "What price?" say they. "So 
much," answers he, "which is but what it cost, paying for my 
time and labor." "Nay, indeed," says one, "we should have it 
for nothing." "When the owner neither will give them all the 
goods for nothing, nor abate his price, which were to give them 
some for nothing, they fall into a rage and rob him. So do per- 
sons with Nature, who rage or rail, not having this or that, but 
ask not the price of the fine things which they wish, nor make 
any move to pay for them. But there is this great difference, 
that thieves may rob a store-keeper, but no one can steal from 
Nature. Therefore, it is a great means of happiness only to 
think that there are means of it. Herein many persons err, for 
they confound happiness with pleasure and think to become joy- 
ful by heaping many merry-makings; or else they consider not 
that happiness is a goal which has paths leading to it, and an 
end which has means belonging to it, like any other goal or end. 
These persons miss happiness — the one by mistaking it for what 
it is not, the other by thinking it will "fall like roasted larks into 
the mouth" if the jaw but open. La Rochefoucauld avers rightly 
that "We take less pains to be happy than to appear to be 
so ;" for no one ventures into company with a morose and sour 
look, but carries a smile though the heart be heavy; and this is 
either pretense, lest he be turned out of a joyful assembly, or a 
kind of duty, lest he dim other spirits. But it is little to be 
doubted that if, whether for wisdom or for kindness (nor indeed 
could these two fail to be joined), we took as much thought to be 
happy as to seem so, we as well could do one as the other, for 
happiness hath its means and will follow on them as music on 
its laws, or health on its precautions. 

Another means of happiness is not to place it first. I must 
think that happiness, if only we mean nobly by it, is needful 
and natural food of the mind. Fichte says it is our business 
"not to achieve happiness, but to deserve it." Ay! and a high 
saying; but to deserve happiness is to have it in no long time, 



160 A HAPPY NEW YEAR. 

and to have the best of it instantly. For the best of hap- 
piness is worthiness of it. Wherefore I have no scruple to call 
noble joys meat of the mind, however some say the contrary. I 
have read in one writer: "Enjoyment is for children, and beg- 
gars, and slaves." I think not so, but rather he who hath not 
grown into a joyfulness of doing and living, and values not 
bright and good enjoyment, is yet but a child, and has not the 
alphabet of the mind ; for intelligence works not its best without 
happiness, more than the body does if starved. It is not one 
kind of joy that is needful, this kind or that, more than one kind 
of meat for the body; one may serve if another be not at hand. 
Yet it is thought variety of food helps body and mind, the one 
with fresh health and the other with its own strength, which is 
thought. Not to live on rice alone, or on oats, or wheat, or 
fruits, but on all together, and with much variety, tops the body 
with a mind that understands the body. So is it with joys. Not 
one or a few, but all kinds together, best nourish the soul, and 
each counts as an element, the missing of which shears some 
strength. But, now, what if the body place food first and set 
foremost the stuffing itself therewith? This some do. Then 
they fill with disease and die. So with the mind, if happiness 
be placed first. For though happiness be a needful food in its 
degree, if the soul place it first it is no food, but a poison. Yet 
it is to be said continually that happiness is needful to complete 
a noble nourishment of the spirit; for there is a kind of foolish 
stoical pride, and again a kind of meek weakness, and again a 
kind of cruel selfishness, which deny the same. Cruel or selfish 
persons often lay to themselves the comfort that the happiness 
which either they give not or they SDatch away, is not needful, 
and that their victim will grow well without it. Wherefore it is 
well to repeat that on some side of the spirit growth will be 
thwarted, or misshapen, if there be not happiness. Whence it is 
our duty not to toss to one another this or that happiness, like 
little balls of pleasure, but to feed joy continuously as a nourish- 
ment. 

Happiness is not to be considered too much, I say, 
especially not placed first ; else it will be had never at all; for 
the first things are the glories of the soul, the truth of the heart, 
the forbearance of the spirit, endurance and fortitude, the faith- 



A HAPPY NEW TEAR. 161 

fulness of conscience, the intelligence of mind. Happiness is 
not the leader of these, but the follower. Yet it is to be esteemed 
highly, and often the follower may help and feed the leader in 
his turn, as I have said. "Happiness lies beyond either pain or 
pleasure — is as sublime a thing as virtue itself," exclaims Mrs. 
Jameson; which I commend gratefully, because it requires a 
noble view of happiness. And therefore, Mrs. Jameson says, 
not only, "as sublime a thing as virtue itself," but adds, "indi- 
visible from it." Yet, so delicate is the moral law, life must be 
lived under two thoughts, virtue and joy, however they be united 
in reason. And happiness will not bear to be the first aim, nor 
much of an aim at all for ourselves, but only for others. And it 
must be glorified only under a very noble idea of it. A philoso- 
pher has said, but very untruly I think: "If we inquire who are 
the happiest men as a class, we shall find that they are those to 
whom it is a matter of doubt whether from day to day they shall 
have enough to eat. The happiest we remember to have seen 
were the lazzaroni of Naples, whose outward condition is as low 
and forlorn as that of a man in a civilized community can well 
be; and the saddest we have known were those whom for- 
tune and their own efforts had raised highest in the social scale." 
This is but poor reasoning; for the carelessness of the lazzaroni 
is not to be called happiness, but the lack of a notion of it — as 
lack of pain is not the same thing as delight, nor being void of 
Hate the same thing as loving. For if we follow this to its end, 
then if the lazzaroni be happier than the workingmen, the worm 
is happier than the lazzaroni, and it is better to be a worm than 
a man. No. The content of the lazzaroni is the abasement of 
arrested growth; the gloom of the instructed or the fortunate, is 
the deformity of preverse or monstrous growth. I like the say- 
ing of Hawthorne: "There is something more awful in happiness 
than in sorrow, — the latter being earthly and finite, the former 
composed of the substance and texture of eternity, so that spirits 
still embodied may well tremble at it." 

Happiness draws this further means to itself, that it may be 
picked up by any one, being the kernel of a multitude of little 
things if only we will gather and open them. Wollaston, in his 
"Religion of Nature," has phrased excellently this common 
thought. He says we consider not enough "the silent pleasures 



1 62 A HAPPY NEW YEAR. 

of a lower fortune, arising from temperance, moderate desires, 
easy reflections, a consciousness of knowledge and truth, with 
other pleasures of the mind." Great loves, thoughts, labors, 
achievements and other such-like experiences are the great things 
of life which bear vast joys; but the modest pleasures that spring 
variously, plentifully, at the feet of those few great oaks, like 
scattered wild fllowers — 'tis well to bend to them, to inhale them, 
give thanks for them. The very great unutterable joys have al- 
ways a measure of pain; they are so great that we must pay 
that price for them. Always there is a shadow ; and unutter- 
ableness is itself a kind of woe. But the little things are often 
pure and unalloyed pleasures. I like these words from Field- 
ing's "Amelia:" "I know," said he, "it must appear dull in de- 
scription, for who can describe the pleasures which the morning 
air gives to one in perfect health; the flow which springs up 
from exercise ; the delights which parents feel from the prattle 
and innocent follies of their children; the joy with which the 
tender smile of a wife inspires a husband; or, lastly, the cheer- 
ful, solid comfort which a fond couple enjoy in each other's con- 
versation ?" This abundance of drops of happiness, like rain, 
if we will but gather them, is the meaning of the New Year 
greeting or of the like thereof at birthdays or other such times. 
For why say we not "A happy life to you," or, "Many happy 
new years;" but this we say not, but, A happy New Year; which 
is to say, another happy year, thinking only of one. Now this is* 
because happiness lies in the present instant, and never is to be 
had save as we use the moment aright; and whether the mo- 
ment hold great things or small things, alike they are but blocks 
shaped for the one palace of happiness. For who can not build 
with what he can hold in his hand can not build at all. And 
who can hold the past when it is gone, or the future when it is 
not come? A poet says: 

Let what thou hast abide before thine eyes 

And to thy heart come homeward, like thy blood. 

Again it is great means of happiness to direct the eyes 
rightly ; for we may see anything we look after. Life is like a 
museum, or like a gallery of pictures. One may look at all of 
the things, and all the paintings, for knowledge; but for joy one 
must return to the lovely or the favorite and stay before it. I 



A HAPPY NEW YEAR. 1 63 

know not in what men differ more than in this. It has been 
my habit to observe the unhappy curiously; and, indeed, hardly 
have I known any unhappy person who made not himself 
wretched by looking for mean things, and fastening his eyes on 
them, notwithstanding the good things plentiful and close by. 
Plutarch says, admirably: "Aristippus, when he lost a noble 
farin, asked one ofj his dissembling friends who pretended to 
be sorry for his misfortune, not only! with regret but with im- 
patience; ' Thou hast but one piece of land, but have I not three 
farms yefc remaining? ' He assented to the truth of it. ' Why, 
then,' said Aristippus, ' should I not rather lament your misfor- 
tune, since it is only the raving of a mad man to be concerned at 
what is lost, and not rather rejoice in what is left.'" Happi- 
ness lies thus so much in our eyes, as we look in one way or 
another, that La Rochefoucauld has written with his usual shrewd- 
ness; "None are either so happy or so unhappy as they imag- 
ine." Yet, truly, it is their imagining which is their wretched- 
ness; they are just so miserable as they conceive, and no more. 
I think the shrewd Frenchman has the truth if only we write 
"appear," for " imagine." For what is harder than to read 
pain and pleasure aright, and measure their degrees? For 
some hide their grief, and some noisily advertise it. Some, 
again, enjoy with quiet fervor, as the tide moves; but others 
boisterously, and perhaps frothily, as waves toss. Moreover, 
with these divers ways of expression, many have great differ- 
ences of nature, so that whether any one be silent or loud, we 
know not how little or how great the feeling, unless his nature 
be understood by us. Wollaston has said, " If one man can 
carry a weight of 400 or 500 pounds as well as another can a 
weight of 100, by their different weights they will be equally 
loaded. And so the poverty or disgrace, the same wounds, etc., 
do not give the same pain to all men. The apprehension of but 
a vein to be opened is worse to some than the apparatus to an 
execution is to others; and a word may be more terrible and 
sensible to tender natures than the sword is to the senseless or 
intrepid breed." Therefore, as I have said, men may be neither 
so full of pleasure nor so wrenched by pain as they seem. But 
whatever truly they imagine, that they suffer; and what they 
fix their sight on, that afterward they will imagine. He is 



164 A HAPPY NEW YEAR. 

blessed who has learned to turn his eyes to the lovely and 
not the hideous. For nature, which includes humanity, has 
such an abundance of both kinds that a man may keep either 
before his eyes as he will; but it is pitiful to snuff in dark corn- 
ers when one may draw breath on hills. 

I have said much now (and yet for the theme but little) of 
the gold mine of happiness each one has in himself if only he will 
sift the soil in that mine. But now I must speak of the means 
of happiness which relate to others, and arise from our living 
with our fellow beings. For we are not alone. " No man liv- 
eth to himself," nor can; but as unto God, " in whom we live." 
so unto our fellows, who live in him. Other persons throng 
about us, compete with us, jostle us, serve us, oblige us to serve 
them, talk with us and about us, love us, hate us, help, harm, 
warn, betray, cheat us, and deal honestly with us. There is no 
peace or blessing for us, no New Year hope, no all-the-year joy, 
unless our heart go out to all the persons kindly and to some 
of them with dear love. " It is not necessary that we should be 
loved, it is necessary that we should love," if we would l?e happy. 
And with this love, either for all who are our fellow-children 
in God, or for the few who are our dearest, must go service. 
Else our love is a base mockery, a mask, as unhallowed as a 
selfish prayer. Thus I delight in the New Year greeting because 
it is a benediction with promise. If one wish another a happy 
New Year according to this custom of the season, this is not 
to be thought a greeting breathed without obligation, but rather 
the acknowlegdement of a tie, office and duty, which join 
one to another. For if I wish happiness to another, but will 
take no step toward him when his path crosses mine, I deserve 
Wordsworth's judgment, that it is, " a greeting where no kindness 
is," and no more than a false and empty sound. This is plain 
if we reflect that we have little power to arrange happiness for 
ourselves, but much power for others. " Whether," it has been 
said well, " any particular day shall bring to you more of happi- 
ness or of suffering is largely beyond your power to determine. 
Whether each day of your life shall give happiness or suffering 
rests with yourself." Whoever has the power to lift must 
answer for burdens, and who bids another a Happy New Year, 
joining therewith no due of service, is no better than a runaway 






A HAPPY NEW YEAR 165 

or traitor; for he has professed a loyalty which has no weight 
in his heart, and in his deeds no place. This greeting, there- 
fore, taxes sincerity. Jeremy Bentham says, excellently: " The 
way to he comfortable is to make others comfortable. The way 
to make others comfortable is to appear to love them. The way 
to appear to love them is to love them in reality." Ah! what hap- 
piness loving service awakes in us, or what joy it adds to joy 
already awaked! A poet has said that " When the power of 
imparting joy is equal to the will, the human soul requires no 
other heaven." Why then in heaven we are, for love hath this 
power. A friend wrote to another, " Thou art my daily bread." 
Yet both were poor and had little but love to give. But such 
power had love to feed! "Little but love," say I! That is 
as if a warm coast were to say to the sun, " I have naught 
for thee whereof to make rain for me, naught but this 
ocean!" And with the power of love to give joy goes the 
greatest of joys, the giving. I have met a saying of Hooker, 
" The greatest felicity that felicity hath is to spread." And 
the vast, glorious, often proud though humble, exalted hap- 
piness that comes of loving and giving love's service, hath a 
great spread. No one can say whither it widens or what it does, 
what songs it makes, what voices repeats like echoes in hills 
that never cease reverberations. " In a man whose childhood 
has known caresses," says George Eliot, " there is always a 
fibre of memory that can be touched to gentle issues." We are 
wise if we enliven our children unto the habit of offering each other 
those attentions and endearments which make home so bright 
now, as if a sun resided in it, and gild the whole life, as a high 
sun floods the whole ocean in an instant, leaving no single 
shadow on its round breast, no, not so much as of one wave on 
another. 

But the human heart prizes not only to love but to be 
loved. This is not necesssary, as I have said, but it is very joy- 
ful, great riches, humble thankfulness, strong cheer, and able 
even to make cheerful strength. From the love of friends 
comes a great part of the happiness of the New Year, and of all 
years. 'Tis well to bethink us of this simple truth, so as by re- 
flection and by faithfulness to know how great the joy may be. 

What a poem, creation power, beatitude, may two persons 



166 A HAPPY NEW YEAR 

make for each other who are faithful at heart? Yea, what an 
axis with the two ends of it pointing star ward, on which the 
earth turns joyfully, full of seasons, flowers and fruits! All 
that love needs is pure personal faithfulness ; which is the same 
as to say that it must be the golden love of another with no 
base vein of self-love. Then its power to embosom, hold, give 
life, is like the air. Such a golden love has made fast to its 
fellow, let us say, in some golden glow of joy, success, pride or 
splendor. The joy wanes. The love cleaves. Grief comes 
apace. The love cleaves. Health and strength are broken in 
labor. The love cleaves. Sickness and weakness seize the 
broken body. The love cleaves. Eiches like swarms of sum- 
mer birds take wings and fly. The love cleaves. Poverty and 
distress, like nocturnal bats come in on leathern wings. The love 
cleaves. Praise, popularity, and influence, quick caught, quick 
lost, fly from the ruined fortunes. The love cleaves. Loneliness, 
neglect, floutings, and unbefriended labors throng, crowd and 
overpower. The love cleaves. Yea, mayhap character stumbles, 
temptations twist too hard, and reputation first halts, then flies. 
The love cleaves. Such love is grand, such friendship is mighty 
for joy — that changes places and things as must be, yet know- 
eth no changing. It is like the sea, like the unity of great 
waters that wash a thousand coasts as may happen, but is not 
altered. For however it come to frowning rocks or to abased 
swamps, or to desert sands, or blooming gardens, it is the same 
sea ! and however it float a rich proud ship or a little shallop, it 
is the same sea! Good love is like this! True friendship is 
such an ocean — the same, whatever coast of fortune the tide flood. 
And now one source of joy I must speak of, ending this ser- 
mon of "A Happy New Year" — the place, in the heart and in 
the life of man, of the thought of Him, the Father, the Eternal, 
to whom "a thousand years are but as yesterday when it is past, 
and as a watch in the night." The highest source of happiness, 
the issue and end of all others, is the part and place, in our lives 
and in our souls, of the thought of God. Mental and moral truths 
are so deep and great, the facts of life and of experience so 
mighty and vast, that the words which belong to them we have 
to speak lightly or easily, but little conscious of them, meaning 
only a bit of their meaning — as one who swims in the sea may 



A HAPPY NEW YEAR. 167 

sport on the surface and toss the spray about, but would be 
sobered and awed if he could conceive the depth and life under 
him. We can speak such words — love, thought, faith, hope, 
heroism, joy, sorrow — only in part, yea, and at each moment live 
them and know them only in part. So it is with the thought of 
God and the speaking of that name. If but once we could speak 
it, feeling what it means! But we can have but one feeling, one 
thought of it, at a time, and that feeling and thought only on the 
surface of them. Yet if we can stop, be still, be very still in 
soul for a little, cease trying to live, and live an instant, what awe, 
joy, trust, love, peace and power come over us with the thought 
of God! 

The part and place within us of that thought is the deep of 
all deeps of happiness, I have said; but who can tell this part 
and place, who can sound the deeps, who sink into them to know 
them ? Who even then could give them words, or by one word, 
the Everlasting Name, gather all the truth into one moment of 
life in us? But it is strength and greatness, divinity, joy, to be 
very still and speak the Name. 

I will try to utter a little part of the place and power 
of that thought within us — I mean, trust in God. There is 
no comfort, peace and stay so mighty as trust in God, and no 
joy greater. I have been speaking of means of happiness in our- 
selves and also around us in other men. But if we look for joys 
in our own minds, in growth, knowledge, love, these are not com- 
plete nor have reached their stature till they fly up to God. We 
begin, we are young and ignorant, we are in a nest, looking over 
the edge of it and knowing only what thence we can peep at ; but 
we come truly to our joy when we have grown stout of wing to 
soar away, to see the earth from a height, to be in the heavens, 
when knowledge and love fly up unto worship, and we know 
the mystery of ourselves in the mystery of God. But if, again, 
we look outward to others, and seek joy in love and sympathy and 
service, giving and receiving it, if in this we succeed, it is encom- 
passed in the Infinite Love, nor know we the greatest and true 
joy of it till we "love God and our friend in God and our enemy 
for God." But if in our venture for human love we succeed not, 
if we find only where to give love but not whence to receive it, 
then indeed we must go for joy to such a thought of God as 



168 A HAPPY NEW YEAR. 

knows and affirms mightily his presence of goodness and love in 
outward circumstances as well as in inward experience, his 
mercy even in the pain and the loss, his eternal goodness, on 
which we may cast the future with trust though we cannot ex- 
pound the present. We can not be happy, or quiet without some 
faith; trust in God is the deep of all trusts, pure faith. ' This is 
a supreme joy if it take hold of our souls simply and fervently. 
The pure sense of gratefulness unto Him, for ourselves, for 
others, for Himself, that things are as they are, that 

"If we would pray, 

We've naught to say 
But this, that God may be God still ; 

For Him to live 

Is still to give, 
And sweeter than my wish His will" — 

this is itself a source of purest happiness, of serene life. 

Joy that can not be shaken or touched we have, when we 
behold him in the heavens and the earth, "see him with our eyes" 
as the Zoroastrians said, and know that Will is Law and Law 
is Will, and Law is Love and Love is Law, < # named with the 
Everlasting Name;" and that there is no holier time or spot than 
this moment and this place, for he lives in all, and he "speaketh, 
not spake." 

Shall the New Year bring Joy, 

Shall it bring Kear, 
Shall it bring Weal or Woe— 

'Tis sure 'tis here. 

But this is not more sure 

Than that the vast 
To-Come is filled with Him 

Who filled the Past. 

Father, we pray to Thee ! 

And in our Heart 
Say not "Thou wast," "Wilt be," — 

Only "Thou art." 



A HAPPY NEW YEAR 169 



A HYMN. 

Now the New Year 
Holy and hale is here ! 

But the Old Year- 
It will not disappear ! 

The New's begun, 

And yet the Old's not done. 

Ever doth stay 

What once hath filled a Day. 

And what doth part 

That once hath filled a Heart? 

The Past doth lie 
Ambered in Memory ; 

So to Gems drest, 

To lie upon the Breast. 

How rich is He, 
Eterne Divinity, 

Who brings all New, 

Yet all the Old leaves too I 



A PBAYER. 



Father, Thou art Eternity! 

And of Thee is Time! 

And of Thee are we, Thy Children. 

Thy Children, who of Thee have Time, 

Look up to Thee Who art Eternity. 



THE UNDERTONE OE LIFE. 



All my members are as a shadow.— Job xvii, 7. 

Job means that so he has grown weak and his flesh melted 
away that his limbs seem as thin and unsubstantial as a shadow. 
He has become as if transparent and vapor-like, being so extenu- 
ated and wasted. 

There is an island in the Eastern seas — so runs an etherial 
fancy — where all the people have but shadowy members. The 
only solid and tangible parts are the vital organs in the interior 
of the body. All that covers these and spreads out from them 
into members is shadow; the features, arms, legs, all, are but 
delicate, misty emanations, translucent, spirit-like. So they con- 
tinue, serving the people for all purposes, till the hour comes for 
the event which, in this happy isle, answers to death. Then 
quietly what was' but half visible before, a mere shape as delicate 
as a white outline in a white fog, melts into invisibleness and 
there is ieft only the vital organs which have been covered by 
the spiritual veil of the members. Then — so runs the fancy of 
the story — are called in the wise men whose business it is to 
study and describe the condition of these vital organs; and their 
report is made public and becomes the good or evil fame of the 
person. The people take no account in their funeral orations, 
histories, chaplets of fame, reputations, of what deeds the shadowy 
members have done, but only of the actual condition of the vital 
parts, the internal enginery, when the airy members have dissolved 
into the atmosphere. 

I will take Job's exclamation, "All my members are as a 
shadow," for the purpose of this discourse, in the sense of this 
grave, strange fancy of the shadowy people of the Eastern island. 



172 THE UNDERTONE OP LIFE. 

And I will speak, not of our bodily, but of our spiritual and 
moral lives, as seems intended by the figurative fancy in the 
story. 

This is my meaning, that with every man there is a vital 
undertone of life, compared to which all his deeds, works, labors, 
his thoughts, notions, affections, pleasures, pains, all whatsoever 
he puts forth, are but members. His body of substance, his real 
life, is this undertone. All else whatever, howsoever active or 
visible, is but the members which are only like moving shapes 
or parts spreading out from this central life. They strike the 
senses, invade the feelings, attack the judgment by their motions; 
but after a time they show how shadowy they are by melting 
away into the air. Then is left bare only the undertone, the 
vital truth of the nature, which is the real and substantial being. 
A man may seem gay and blithe. This is a member. 'Tis still 
a question what the vital fact, the undertone, is. He may live 
in honesty as to his dealings, he may speak the truth. These 
are members. 'Tis yet to be known what the undertone is. He 
may be charitable and generous in act, give lavishly, spread ben- 
efactions. These are members. 'Tis still to be asked what the 
undertone is. He may go on in life proper in all things, prudent, 
well-mannered, respectable, staid, solid, clean-shaven. 'Tis to 
be mooted still what the undertone is, the reality of his life, the 
state of the vital centre. 

For the soul is like to the body and the body to the soul 
in its laws and methods. If we see. strong members in the body, 
good vigor, bright color, we say with fair warrant that the body 
is sound and healthful; else how put forth and maintain such 
members? If we see good deeds, bright cheer, courage, honesty, 
sobriety, we say with good warrant that the soul is sound and 
healthful and these members of fair deeds spring from deep true 
motives, which are the soul's health. But sometimes the mem- 
bers of the body seem strong and fine, while all the time the 
body is unsound, deeply and centrally diseased ; and suddenly 
the deep sickness breaks forth with destruction, or after an un- 
accountable death, we search and behold on what a marsh of de- 
cay those fine members were reared ; and what supported them we 
cannot tell; or the members themselves look very fine and show 
well, but are weak, and fail if they be put to strain. So some- 



THE TJNDEBTONE OF LIFE. 173 

times in the soul's life we see fine appearances, members that 
show well, deeds that seem excellent, honesty that looks sterling, 
manners that have a bright hue as of fresh, good blood, while all 
the time, in the very fact of it, in the undertone, the life is false 
and wretched; the members well trimmed for the eye, but the 
life not true in the soul. This is what Jesus compared to graves 
and tombs, that by their very office and nature are kept fine on 
the outside, but inwardly are noisome and sickening. 

It is easy to cloak anything till it look well. I care not what 
grinning skeleton it be, clothe it up and mask it, and it will look 
as well as any fine body. So that under like velvets, and under 
gold sashes one as fine as the other, there may be as great dif- 
ference as life and death. 

Very common and sober truth it is that not what we seem 
to be by manner or look or deeds, but what we are in very truth, 
is the great issue in life — not what be the members which we put 
forth and flourish, which "are but as a shadow," but what is the 
undertone of life, wherein is our substance and reality. This is 
very common and very sober simple truth, I say. Perhaps some 
will say, "|Has the preacher nothing fresher to say than such an 
old truth ? 'Tis [an old saw that hath been crooned by every 
good granny since the flood!" 'Tis so. I am preaching naught 
new or surprising, naught to stir you with a sensation. 'Tis no 
new wine I bring you, but an old and well-recognized vintage. 
But always a remedy, a medicine, may be said to be fresh when 
it is what the disease needs, although the sickness have broken 
out ten thousand times before. What kind of a physician were 
he who should seek evermore a new medicine to displace one al- 
ready proved in the same malady ? Therefore, though this which 
I preach be an old truth, 'tis no older than the disease, and is 
now as fresh and new as the disease, and therefore to be repeated 
over and over till the sickness yield, — the truth that all the deeds 
of men that look fine and show so flourishingly, are but members, 
only "as a shadow" of the reality. The reality is the undertone 
of life, the vital truth of character and motive, from which the 
members grow ; and by this they are good or bad, however they 
may appear ; weak or strong, whatever be their look ; noble or ig- 
noble, however they seem. The great question is: What is a 
man at the center ? What is his vital life ? What the under- 



174 THE UNDERTONE OF IiTFE. 

tone ? The undertone of the life may be revealed truly by the 
members, which are the deeds or the visible affections. But also 
the outward members may not show truly what the real under- 
tone is. They may seem good, when the aim and thought are 
careless or bad. Then it is the aim and motive which make the 
undertone of life. For two men may do the very same act at 
the same time in the same case. In both it is but a member, a 
shadow. In both the act may seem a good one or a bad one, a 
member healthful or a member diseased. In both the one ques- 
tion is, — What is the undertone of life, the reality ? And if this 
be different, then though they do the same act at the same mo- 
ment in the same matter, it may be noble in one, ignoble in the 
other. 

Says Thackeray: — "I never could count how many causes 
went to produce any given effect or action in a person's life, and 
have been for my own part many a time quite misled in my own 
case, fancying some grand, some magnanimous, some virtuous 
reason, for an act of which I was proud; when lo! some pert 
little satirical monitor springs up inwardly, upsetting the fond 
humbug which I was cherishing — the peacock's tail wherein my 
absurd vanity had clad itself — and says, "Away with this boast- 
ing! I am the cause of your virtue, my lad. You are pleased 
that yesterday at dinner you refrained from the dry champagne. 
My name is Worldly Prudence, not self-denial, and I caused you 
to refrain. You are pleased because you gave a guinea to Didd- 
ler! I am Laziness, not generosity, which inspired you. You 
hug yourself because you resisted other temptation ! Coward ! It 
was because you dared not run the risk of the wrong. Out with 
your peacock's plumage ! Walk off in the feathers which nature 
gave you, and thank Heaven they are not altogether black." 

Yes, this is very sober truth, — that not just acts but justice, 
not honest payments but honesty, not lively tones but cheerful 
faith, not any fair-looking members but the vital parts, the un- 
dertone of life, are the condition and source of health and sin- 
cerity or of weakness and pretense. 

Now this undertone of life, as it is the source of true dis- 
tinctions in morals, so it is the fountain of joy or of pain, of the 
strong life in the members that goes with good joy, or of that 
struggle or hindered office of them that comes of misery. This 



THE UNDERTONE OF LIFE. 175 

specially is what I wish to set forth to you now, — this, that it is 
the undertone of life which is the vast source of happiness, if we 
be happy; and that we can not be happy, we can only be gay 
or riotous, if the undertone of our life be sorrowful or bad. It 
needs no saying indeed that if the undertone of our life be joyful 
and good, and our conditions good, we shall be happy. But 
mayhap it needs some enforcing that if the conditions be pleasant 
and blithe, but the undertone of our life sad, darkened, the good 
conditions can not drag us much out of that undertone; and on 
the other side, if the conditions be hard and painful, but the un- 
dertone be good, serene, grateful, joyful, the hard or sad con- 
ditions cannot stop the strong outbreak and overflow of that un- 
dertone; but it will swell like a freshet of waters from the hills, 
and stream over the hard conditions. It is not the instances of 
sadness, not this pain, or that struggle, not this loss, that priva- 
tion, this disappointment, or anon another grief — not these that 
work mischief with us, but the steady undertone of life, whether 
that be love and joy and truth, or false or cold or woeful. 

The reason of this power and virtue of the undertone is what 
I would have you think of much and earnestly; this reason, 
namely, that it is into the undertone of our lives that we settle back at 
every unoccupied moment. The instant the attention is released, 
back into the undertone we fall. If we have been intent on a 
task, and full of the happy exercise of power which goes with in- 
tent effort, when the task is finished, we drop instantly to the 
undertone. If during the task we rest a moment, drop the tool, 
lay down the pen, cease the argument, down go we to the under- 
tone, like the swoop of a bird when the wings poise at rest. Nay, 
it needs but an instant of pause; in that instant, in but a hesita- 
tion, but a look up from the desk, a glance aside from the tool, 
if the attention flag an instant, down are we in the undertone 
with the infinite speed of gravitation. Sometimes the undertone 
is but a state, sad or joyful, grave or blithe, earnest or trifling, 
selfish or generous, cold or loving, spiritual or sensual, intellect- 
ual or vacant. Sometimes a special train of thought, an habitual 
subject of reflection, a constant brooding or musing in one direc- 
tion, makes a part of the undertone and joins with the disposi- 
tion. Perhaps this is so in all persons in the measure of their 
activity of mind. "Every man," says Dugald Stewart, "has 



176 THE UNDERTONE OP LIFE. 

some peculiar train of thought which he falls back upon when he 
is alone. This to a great degree molds the man." And not only, 
I add, when he is alone, but though he be compassed with crowds 
of men, nay, though he be beset with talk, in the midst of con- 
versation or discourse, if his attention flag and thus he be freed 
an instant, back falls he to his undertone and the " train of 
thought" in it. And not only trains of thought, I add again, 
but vans of memory may be in the undertone, or feed it mainly. 
But whether the undertone be but disposition, tendency, state, 
or be active with habitual reflections, or deep with wells of mem- 
ory, it is all one. At every pause of labor, every suspense of 
attention, we fall into the undertone instantly, as if it were our 
real life (as in truth it is), and the labors, deeds, or the attention 
fixed awhile on somewhat, were but dreams, members which 
" are as a shadow," from which we awake to our perpetual life 
in the undertone. 

If, now, we fall into the undertone of us, whatever it be, at 
every instant of ceasing from active exercise of mind, — if, I say, 
I may liken the mind to a living body that can stand on two legs 
so long as it is alive or awake, but if it sleep for an instant, falls 
over to mother earth, — then what great matter it is whether the 
fall to the undertone help or hinder us in the task we have to do, 
or in the large task of living in our lot. We are at work, I say, 
and stop a moment to breathe, or we are thinking, drawing, 
composing, and for a turn of the head, the stretch of a limb, our 
attention relaxes, and we rush into our undertone of life like a 
meteor to the earth. Forth we come again to the labor, the 
argument, the art, the composition, the responsibility of the in- 
stant, whatever it be. What a vast difference it makes whether 
by that plunge into the undertone of us we be the more free or 
the more* hampered for the duties to which we come back. For 
this sudden immersion in the undertone happens many times 
each day, many times in an hour belike ; and so many times we 
come back from it to our tasks or places as swiftly as we fell into 
it; wherefore many times each day, or many times in an hour 
belike, we are braced or unbraced, girded up or relaxed, refreshed 
or more disabled, strengthened or enfeebled, heartened or dis- 
heartened, set aflame or choked with ashes. Do we look at this 
fact enough? Is it not a deep and sober truth? Is it possible 



THE UNDERTONE OF LIFE. 177 

to say what difference in those members which "are as a shadow," 
what great differences in deeds, in things accomplished, in aims 
set high or low, in hopes, in dreams, in loves, in all the mani- 
fold responsibilities of life — what differences in them, I say, to 
make them good or bad, base or noble, come of these continual 
swift repairings to our undertone, if so be these help us, or 
hinder us. This is a deep and momentous thing ! Think of it. 
We work, we cease a moment, we lean on our tool, we lounge 
back in our chair, but an instant, maybe, but a sigh, a breath, a 
look about us; but in that instant, by the flash of an idleness 
over the attention, by the momentary loosing of a strained will, 
we are hurled into our undertone and bathed in strength or 
weakness to go on with our occupation. Surely so great a moral 
fact as this will explain many glories and many shames, many 
failures and many achievements, many feeble sinkings under 
trials, many shining triumphs. 

Here also I must turn to our great effect on each other. 
What etherial subject, indeed, leads not to this conclusion. But 
none more than the undertone of life, its laws and powers. What 
if the undertone of life be deep sadness of heart ? What if it be 
a pervading solemn sorrow of that incurable kind which treach- 
erous or untender or loveless companions may inflict? What if 
thou or I have made such an undertone for any one ? Bethink 
you — it is not this pain, that stroke, or anon some other blow, 
which all cease soon, that make sadness, but the steady under- 
tone; because, however we live in work or in pleasures, these 
must stop sometimes, or the attention will flag from them at 
many moments, and then we fall, like a weight dropt from an 
eagle's beak, into the sea of our undertone. Bethink us, then, 
what we may do to one another by hurts and shocks of love, by 
faithlessness, hardness, unkindness, selfishness. For if these be 
many and long, sometime they will pass beyond hurts and be- 
come hurt, beyond pains and blows to be settled pain and lacera- 
tion; and they settle thus from single blows and hurts to an 
undertone suddenly. With some one blow too many, the point 
is overpassed, the weight over-piled, and down sink they to be 
an undertone of the life. What an infliction then you have done, 
when you have wrought not merely a smart, a pang, on some 
one, but such an undertone as is pain and sorrow at every stop 
in labor, every rest of attention. 



178 THE UNDERTONE OF LIFE. 

But this has its glorious converse. Where in nature is there 
aught all black? What to be found but runs into light if we will, 
or if we wait, or if we understand ? The Infinite is as a Sun of 
Light, and every finite thing is as a sphere unto the light, which 
must be illumined on one side if on the other it be dark. As thus 
we may create a sad undertone, so we may make in another per- 
son a joyful undertone, which hath the same power to enliven 
and refresh which the sad has to wear and waste. By gentle 
lovingness, faithfulness, watchfulness, which droppeth "like the 
gentle dew from heaven," we may bestow an undertone of life 
on another which is like light, like a sea of the sun; wherein 
when he falls back at the flaggings of attention or the pauses of 
labor, it will be to come up strong and glowing and blest, like 
Yima from bathing in the billows of the sun's ocean. And as 
you can not divine the one fatal last blow by which your blows 
amass to become an undertone of pain, so yon can not tell the 
blessed moment when your loving kindness shall sink with a 
gravity like gold to be a warm and beautiful undertone of life, 
giving strength and joy forever. 

Many kinds of undertone of life and character there are, 
such as the cold or the tender, the selfish, the immoral, the re- 
morseful, and much were to be said of each. But in this one 
sermon I cannot. Only of one kind farther will I speak. I mean 
the undertone which is ideality. It is a great matter to us 
whether our undertone of life be one of ideality. Surely you 
know what this means. It is the state of soul which judges 
things purely and for themselves; not by their visible results so 
much ; not by the fact of there being visible results, or none, as 
it may be; not by the amount of outward return for outward ex- 
pense, not by popularity or votes and verdicts, or numbers, or 
power or station; but altogether by the simple truth, virtue, 
beauty, sincerity, grace, exaltation of the things themselves. 
Ideality is belief in the mightiness of a thought, the power of an 
idea, as being the strength of Grod. It is 

" The instinct that can tell 
That God is on the field when he 
Is most invisible 1 " 

Noble words these of the hymn, and yet I would say more. Ide- 
ality is the instinct to which God never is "invisible," but always 



THE UNDERTONE OF LIFE. 179 

plainly "on the field." When Jesus said such words as, "My 
Father worketh hitherto and I work," " For this cause came I into 
the world, to bear witness to the truth," "These words of mine 
are like a house builded on a rock," then was he full of the ideal 
and of the might of it, not counting on powers, principalities, 
possessions, courting naught, bespeaking nothing, but only pour- 
ing forth the soul's supremacy and the simple truth, and saying, 
"This is of God; ye have no power at all against it," and never 
counting "one accent of the Holy Ghost," lost even when naught 
could be heard of it for the scoffs at the cross. Ideality is to 
believe in the power of God, by which "no good thing is failure 
and no evil thing success, however things may seem." Ideality 
judges the thiog itself in the light of the soul and can stand with 
a few joyfully, and hath a vision far beyond powers or princes 
who triumph at the instant. And ideality never barters any 
truth or virtue or simple grace, which is real power, for applause 
or riches or company or assemblies, which are but ghosts of force. 
Now, it is great matter to us to have ideality for the under- 
tone of life. We must live in the practical, the pressing, the 
material, we must consort with powers and possessions and pre- 
tences, we must deal with riches, with ambitions, with those who 
think to rule by riches or by force or by cunning or by wit, with 
crowds and majorities, in fields of compromises and submission 
we must struggle with work that falls short, we must be helpless 
very often, we must meet "wrong on the throne" honored and 
done homage, "right on the scaffold" mocked and done to death, 
we must be beset with calls to us and pushes against us to veer a 
little from the simple and pure way of the truth, to bow and do 
homage to the idol of the hour lest the crowd hustle us. These 
things meet us in ten thousand ways, in the home, in the church, 
in the store, in politics. Happy for us then if we have faith in 
a pure thought. This is to have an undertone steady and strong 
of ideality, wherein we say, "I can not argue about prices or 
numbers or majorites, the wish or applause or purchase of men; 
but I know simply that this thing which is demanded is not 
noble, and therefore is seeded with death, and that this other 
thing, which now is hooted or trampled or neglected, is noble 
and ideal, and therefore is eternized of God." If such be our 
undertone, then in the daily strife, in the temptations, the sneers, 



180 THE UNDERTONE OF LIFE. 

jibes, bribes, at every moment of rest, every blessed pause, slum- 
ber of will, relaxing of attention, we shall fall back into the un- 
dertone of ideality, and come forth as if washed in a river of 
Paradise. We shall sink into the undertone as we fall asleep, 
when the will holily lets go its watch. We shall awake in the 
undertone, before the attention has begun its alertness. This is 
to be familiar with eternity, with "the sources of astonishment 
and power." 

One lovely and helpful gift of God to us in the undertone, a 
Theodore or Theodora, I must not fail to mention. I mean that 
a beautiful and beloved person may make a part of our undertone 
of life with great gladness to us, a very lovely source of joy, re- 
freshment, power and grace. Sometimes there may be many 
persons. 'Tis well so, but it is also great and good if there be 
few, or one be beyond all others. It is possible and blessed 
to have such an image, or such images, in us that at every 
pause of labor, every suspense of attention, we fall suddenly into 
an undertone which is dear and pure company, bright forms, an- 
gelic association, inspiring love. This is very possible, day by 
day, for years, for life, and is full of joy, of help, of revival, of 
wonder and gladness, strength, ideals, and songs of thanks. 
"Love" says a poet, "can sun the realms of light;" and another 
says love is "a discovering of the infinite in the finite." 

And now, once more, in this sermon, as in many, yea, all, 
we must come to the one thought, the thought of thoughts, in 
which is all joys and all sorrows, all need and all power, " life, 
death and immortality " — the thought of God. May I not say, 
reverently and solemnly, that the thought of God may be the 
undertone of life in us, if we will, if we strive, love, pray, lift our- 
selves upward — may we not say this? In very truth — the 
greatest of truths — it is possible that God be the undertone of life 
in us ! In the morning we may awake, and with whatever bliss 
of love or success, triumph, hope, expectatioD, or what pain, sor- 
row, doubt, fear, soon we may say, " This light is from the same 
source as the darkness when I fell asleep." If we labor all day, 
how hard soever, how struggling and doubtful soever, not seeing 
our way clearly, we may say in the pauses, " I am working with 
the same Strength and amid the same Laws which did bestead 
me yesterday." If we have refreshments, sweet love, dear voices, 



THE UNDERTONE OF LIFE. 181 

pleasant sympathies, gleams of successes, we may say, between 
happy sighs, " These joys come to me very steadily and are all 
from One Source, and every day they are here." When we lie 
down at night, and one more day is doDe, sleep near, weariness 
blissful, just before we fall into slumber, we shall fall into our 
undertone belike, and it may be this thought, " The darkness 
and the light are both alike to him," or "He hath beset me behind 
and before, and laid his hand upon me," or " Search me, God, 
and know my heart; try me and know my thoughts," or " This 
rest and sleep and night-tabernacle are from the same One who 
awoke me this morning to light, strength and labor." And when 
again with the day we awake, belike we come from our under- 
tone and to it we may rush back for an instant from the mighty 
morning on the earth, and Grod may be in the undertone, and we 
may say, "Again he cometh," or " Surely never he hath left me, 
for he was by when I fell to slumber, and now again here he is," 
or " He is the same yesterday and to-day," or " In his light we 
see light." It is possible so to live, so hope, love, pray, and think, 
and think upward, that every pause shall sink us into an undertone 
which sinks into Grod — not with exclamation or a prayer, or 
even thinking of prayer or of naming any thought with the 
Eternal Name, but with " a spirit composed to love ," 

" With reverential resignation, 

No wish conceived, no thought expressed ! 

Only a sense of supplication, 

A sense o'er all my soul imprest, 

That I am weak, yet not unblest, 

Since in me, round me, everywhere 

Eternal Strength and Wisdom are ! " 

And to the poet we must add, not only a sense of supplication but 
of fulness, of mysterious blessedness which leaves naught to 
entreat or to conceive; and not only of finite weakness, but of 
infinite strength, a glorious sense of power and light lifting us as if 
all heaven were dissolved into a flood to roll under us. It is possi- 
ble, if we alight in lovely joys, and catch our breath for bliss, to 
fall by that pause into an undertone where hath grown habitual 
a reverent thought of what joy means. If pleasures fly around us 
like birds of gay feathers, and we await a jocund moment that 
comes dancing to us, it is possible to fall, by that pause into an 
undertone (as fall we shall into some) which is a sweet thank- 



182 THE UNDERTONE OP LIFE. 

fulness of remembrance "that no man liveth to himself," 
but "unto God" and " his friends in God and his enemies for 
God." It is possible, if sorrow befall us, in the pause while 
a tear is dropping, to sink into an undertone which by discipline 
is a holy quiet, patience, adoration, in which lives the thought 
of God, the Almighty Love and Faithfulness. It is possible, if 
temptation fall on us, and we stand shocked, trembling, by that 
pause to sink into a deep in us where is the thought of the In- 
finite Holiness which is the rebuke of all evil. There is a solemn 
sense of life, a deep feeling of our significance one unto another, 
a divine habitude of joy, a bliss of dependence and bliss of inde- 
pendence, a glorifying of beauty, a reverence, veneration, lowli- 
ness, love, with sometimes the Eternal Name — which all is the 
thought of God in us. It is possible that God shall be the 
undertone of life. 

Now, if the right undertone be a point of so great moment 
to us, we must ask how to attain it, how elevate and chasten it. 
To this question, of course, there is one general answer, that 
every good deed enobles us. Flying forth from us, it has power 
to come back to us with virtue and inhabit us. Every good and 
true act which we do, being done and gone from sight, sinks 
into the undertone to empty there its freight of goodness. This 
is a great and exalting truth, that 

" What is excellent, 
As God lives, is permanent." 

A noble hymn sings a song of strength, triumph and riches be- 
cause every soul is " heir of all ages," able to draw on itself for 
all that aeons "have wrought," " every golden deed," all labors 
and prayers, passions and tears, " faith sublime," 

" Aspirations pure and high 
Strength to do and to endure."* 

Like to each soul which is heir of all the ages, the undertone of 
life is heir of the goodness of every good deed of us. It receives 
the power of every noble act nobly acted, which is to say, done 

* Heir of all the ages, I,— 

Heir of all that they have wrought ! 
All their store of emprise high, 
All their wealth of precious thought I 



THE UNDERTONE OF LIFE. 183 

with sincerity. This is a great truth, full for us of courage, con- 
solation, exaltation. Yet it may be helpful if I divide this 
precept into four special answers to the question how to attain 
to a noble and pure undertone of life, how to exalt and chasten 
it: 

1 . By striving to do naught but from a good motive. For 
the deeds are only the members which " are as a shadow." 
The undertone, the soul of them, the true body of life, is the 
motive. Therefore to see to it that we satisfy ourselves with no 
fair deeds from sordid purposes and selfish aims, deeds truly 
fraudulent, fine-seeming and base-aiming, but to keep the mo- 
tive always pure — this exercises the undertone in its true virtue, 
rectifies and enobles it. 

2. By secret faithfulness. I mean by this two forms of pri- 
vate worthiness. One form is the doing of any duty or labor 
just as faithfully and scrupulously, unwitnessed, or even un- 
known, unpraised, unrewarded, as under the eye and commend- 
ation of a master. The other form is, the doing quietly and 
diligently whatever good comes in our way, or can be sought by 
us, without publication of our good act, and even hiding it — 
the virtue counseled by Jesus iu the saying, " Let not thy left 
hand know what thy right hand doeth." Secret faithfulness 
has very great power to amend and enoble the undertone of life, 
because it can spring possibly from naught but good and high 
motive. 

3. By striving watchfully and lovingly to think of others 

Every golden deed of theirs 

Sheds its luster on my way ; 
All their labors, all their prayers, 

Sanctify this present day. 

Heir of all that they have earned 

By their passion and their tears ; 
Heir of all that they have learned 

Through the weary, toiling years; 

Heir of all the faith sublime 
On whose wings they soared to heaven ; 

Heir of every hope that Time 
To earth's fainting sons hath given ; 

Aspirations pure and high ; 

Strength to do and to endure ; 
Heir of all the ages, I,— 

Lo, I am no longer poor? 

Julia C. Dorr. 



184 THE UNDERTONE OP LIFE. 

first and most and of ourselves second and least. The. cause of 
the power of this goodness on the undertone is the same as before, 
namely that it must be good in itself, and can be no otherwise ; 
for if our preference of others spring from a bad motive, which 
is to say, from an interested purpose or regard to our own ends, 
then we are not thinking of others but of ourselves. 

4. By seeking the beautiful, revering it, learning to love it 
and rejoice in it. For beauty, of whatever kind, in sky or sea or 
land, or feature, form, complexion, spirit, in body or in mind, is 
to be loved only for itself. It can not be revered or loved except 
for itself, which is to say, with a pure motive. For if. a beauti- 
ful thing be prized for some service it may do, then it is the ser- 
vice which is valued, not the beauty which is loved. Nay, the 
beauty then is like not even to be sean or known. " Everything 
which in any way is beautiful," says Marcus Aurelius, "is beauti- 
ful in itself and terminates in itselt not having praise as part of 
itself. * * * That which is really beautiful has no need of 
anything; not more than law, not more than truth, not more 
than benevolence or modesty. Which of these things is beautiful 
because it is praised, or spoiled by being blamed*? Is such a 
thing as an emerald made worse than it was, if it be not praised? 
or gold, ivory, purple, a lyre, a little knife, a flower, a shrub? " 
Because beauty thus is simple, elemental, and not to be loved, 
nay nor even beheld or known, unless loved for its own sake, 
with a holy adoration, to learn to love beauty and to know it, 
with rapture, is a mighty exercise of reality in us, a heavenly 
training of sincerity, of pure devotion and simple earnestness. 
It is always an assertion of the ideal, of the glory of grace which 
hath no end but simply to be, to rejoice the soul, to draw wor- 
ship, to show divinity, yes, and only to be divinity where there are 
none to see and adore, like rain 

" In the wilderness wherein there is no man, 
To satisfy toe desolate and waste ground, 
And cause the tender hejcb to spring forth." 

Beauty is not to be sold ; for he who would buy, can buy the 
object, but not the beauty of it, unless he have the soul to know 
it, and love it. Wherefore to learn to love all beauty, to revere it, 
and rejoice in it, is to rectify the soul by simplicity, by directness, 
by ideality and pure motive and genuine love. Whatever 



THE UNDERTONE OF LIFE. 185 

thus draws the soul to the simple and elemental, to what is to 
be loved only with most pure and unmixed motive, or else not 
even is beheld, and to be loved with great joy and rapture, or 
else not is loved at all, this, by being so very pure, so unmixed, 
central, perfect, is very powerful to exhalt and chasten the un- 
dertone of life. Also beauty never stops but in the infinite. 
Whatever is fair is the shadow of a fairer. u I am of the opin- 
ion," said Cicero, " that there is naught so beautiful but there 
is something still more beautiful, of which this is/the mere image 
and expression." 



LOSSES. 



There are many millions of possible events, and many mil- 
lions of persons on the earth. Yet of the possible events, per- 
haps there is not one that happens to only one person. We can 
not tell. But surely it is true that almost any one of the mil- 
lions of events happens to many persons, and some of them 
to all persons. Now, in thinking what events theie are which 
befall all persons, I have perceived two things : First, I see 
that they are very many, much larger in number than we might 
suppose at first, seeing that there are such countless millions of 
persons to divide among them the millions of events. Secondly, 
I see that these events which befall all persons include the great- 
est and most mighty events which befall any persons. That 
so many same events, and among these the greatest possible, 
befall us all, is one reason that we are all alike. That so many 
different events are sprinkled here and there and befall men in 
companies, communities, nations, or other natural assemblies, 
but are not common to all persons, is one reason that we are so 
unlike, yet with a common nature or resemblance pervading 
communities or assemblies. 

Of the very great events, comprising the most mighty of all, 
which befall every one, four, I think, stand first, namely, 1. being 
born; 2. dying; 3, gaining some things; 4. losing some things. 
The two vast events of our coming hither and of our going 
away at last, stand up like mysterious barriers at the ends of life ; 
between these we all gain some things, and some things lose. 
Thus loss is one of the events that surely befalls every one, and 
one of the most affecting and momentous too. 

Losses are mingled with our lives like threads woven in and 
out. Three facts about them give them great interest in my 
mind, a peculiar part in our experience. One is that they are 



188 LOSSES. 

the inseparable shadows of gains and pleasures; for we can 
gain some things only by loss of other things. Another 
fact is that we ourselves, if any one love us or benefit by us, must 
be a loss at some time, when we take our mysterious flight 
away. The other fact is that losses are often great sorows, 
noble and divine sorrows; so that the theme of losses takes hold 
on deep things in us, and is a tender, dear and sacred subject. 

It is wise to bethink us how sure it is that losses will be- 
fall. For either things fly away from us, or we from them. Time 
drops but briefly his jewels of hours and days; " it is soon cut 
off and we fly away." Eiches "take to themselves wings," or, 
if they stay to the end, 'tis but because we take wings first our- 
selves. Friends fall like leaves. Intimacies cease, broken 
violently (an unhallowed bitterness), or fading gradually (a 
mournful frustration). Comrades forsake us, or go to other 
places, or die. Nay, if we keep our beloved, in body, 'tis to lose 
one form of them after another which the heart has cherished. 
The little babe in the arms is precious ; but every day there is a 
small loss of him. Soon the daily detachments from our baby- 
jewel, like grindings from a diamond, have changed the shape. 
The infant is lost. We have the playful child, full of mo- 
tion, of words, of questions, games, wiles, whimseys, ruses, craft, 
quickness, fascination ; but the bosom-babe is gone. Still go on 
the polishings and cuttings of time, and soon the winsome child 
is gone — another loss. What is the gain ? A youth, strong, 
liberated, flaming, glorious, proud, princely, daring, contentious! 
But the tricksy child is lost. Soon the fiery youth follows him 
into that mist of dispossession; only a trained, sober man 
is by your side. 

These are the losses inevitable. But others, that wring 
the heart hard, fall by the way as mystically as rain or meteors. 
The child, all light, the youth, all flame, the man, all sober glow, 
suddenly vanish. Cool Death loves them, and abducts them. 
His office is to lead away the old; but he is let loose often to 
seize the young too, the beautiful, the gay, the sweet, the gentle, 
lilied with childhood or rosemaried with youth. 'Tis his office, 
too, to cover up the spent or useless; but often he carries off 
jealously bodies full of service, minds full of counsel, hearts 
dispensing love as useful as dew, the wise father, the precious 



LOSSES. 189 

and graceful mother. Ah! in these transfers comes loss indeed! 
Then comes heart-anguish! Then hitter struggles, mayhap a 
long time doubting and rebellious! Then holy sorrows, sacred 
bereavements,tears and prayers! Then long loneliness and out- 
reachings of the heart that come back like empty hands, with- 
out the precious child, without the sweet mother or the heart- 
dwelling friend! 

So losses come, and must come. On whatever plane of life 
we live, they must come. If we live in ambition, which is ''like 
hunger, obeying no law but its appetite," and " not always wise 
because 'tis brave," — who gains all that he soars after? Nay, 
how many, after the soaring, drop with nothing ? If we live 
in riches, how little they can buy, how easily are lost, what poor 
pleasures by the use of them, what hopeless chagrins by the 
flight of them! If we live not for ourselves in ambition or 
riches, but for others in love, then what noble sorrows replace 
the rank pangs of discontent, what tender and precious bereave- 
ments commute the torments of defeats and wrecks. As 
losses thus mingle in life, like a woof in the warp, this sermon 
is to express three thoughts about losses which, as I hope, will 
hold both strength and comfort in them. 

But I shall speak wholly of the great losses of life, losses 
which are inoble and heavenly sorrows. For of the lower 
losses, one thought is enough to give all possible strength 
and comfort in them, one principle holds the whole secret of 
them. Which one thought and principle is that we ought 
not to esteem much these lower things, and thereupon we 
shall rise easily above losses of them. To be concrete, and 
plain by example, I will put it thus — That the one principle of 
support under loss of riches, or power, or position, or what- 
soever on that plane, is that we ought not to be devoted to these 
things; but we ought to be devoted to thoughts and to persons. 
Therefore it is in these realms alone, where thoughts and per- 
sons inhabit, that great and affecting losses ought to be possible 
to us. So that touching such losses alone we need to seek 
strength and comfort. For if we lose riches, our strength is that 
we ought not to be so devoted to them as to suffer much. But 
if we lose what it is a very joy and holiness and glory of 
life to be devoted unto, then, indeed, we need a strength and 



190 LOSSES. 

comfort from large thoughts which, as it were, may dissolve, in 
one divinity, in one beauty and law, our devotion and the ob- 
ject of our devotion, so as to show us our love and our loss to- 
gether in one divine keeping, mercy, love and law. Now as I 
have said, the objects to which we may be devoted with all our 
heart and soul, whereby loss in these things is a deep and holy 
sorrow, are thoughts and persons. But thoughts can not be 
lost. They are of that divine essence that they can not retire 
from us. Naught can abstract or abduct them from us, or take 
away their dwelling-place with us. Therefore I have no losses 
of which to speak now but losses of persons. Such losses may 
be by death. These are the easiest of them. No way is so lit- 
tle sorrowful as death by which to lose beloved persons. Or 
such losses may be by slow alienation, unworthiness of heart, 
unfaithfulness, treachery; or by moral dissappointment, wrecks 
of character, unveiling of wickedness, overthrows, undoings, 
sinkings, founderings in dark seas. "Whether a person turn from 
us treacherously — showing that he loved only with easy sylla- 
bles or in summer weather, nay, loved not, but kept a careful 
ledger for himself — or whether (ah terrible!) we find we have 
loved a plague, poison, corruption, well hidden in fine linen, — 
these are the racking, rending, dreadful losses, these the tearings 
of persons from us which tear out the heart of us. Weighed 
with these, the death of dear persons makes but a light loss, yea, 
it rests in the scale-pan like a crown cut from night, set all 
around with brilliants of starry hopes. 

But loss by death is sorrowful. 'Tis the nature of love 
that so it should be, and must be. How the heart clings! What 
a wrench the parting is! How exceeding precious is the daily 
presence of children, of sweet wife and mother, counseling father 
beloved friends! Nay, how dear the knowledge that they are 
on this earth, and though ten thousand miles away, how near 
they are! When that solemn, misty robe is brought to them and 
unseen hands wrap it around them and carry them away, and 
vanish with them like the day in the west, the heart is bowed 
down with a heavy weight of pure and solemn sorrow. It is of 
these losses only that now I will speak ; for the worse losses, 
the bitter and and racking desertions and ruins of persons by 
which we loose them, require other thoughts, other u medicines 



LOSSES. 191 

for the soul." Of the losses by death I will offer now the three 
thoughts which will have grace of strength and comfort in them, 
as I hope. 

The first thought is this: Touching all losses, things go; 
but first they come! Fasten the mind on that. They could not 
go, but that first they come. We can not lose, but that already 
we have had. Beloved persons go from us ; but first they have 
come to us.. They come in every way just as they have gone, 
as solemnly, mysteriously, and in the same degree ; so that never 
our loss is greater, nor can be, no, not by the weight of a breath, 
than the gain and joy that first we have had. We see them go 
in mystery. We can not follow. Our eyes are too blind with 
tears, even if the way were more open. But if our orbs were 
dry and clear, still we could not follow. But this mystery is no 
greater than the coming was. We can not follow the birth or 
the death behind the veils which hang over them. So that our 
loss of sweet children by the death of them is no more solemn- 
ized by holy mystery than our gain by the birth of them, and 
no less glorified. If a long time, many precious years, we keep 
them, or they keep their sweet mother, their dear father, that 
is but to say that much is possessed ; and if then there be a flying 
away, and the loss be bitter and wring hard, 'tis only because 
we have had so much, so very much, such precious store. Surely 
we may turn our eyes from the loss to rate again the gain that 
was before the loss. Surely it is but grateful and truthful to 
bethink us that what has gone we first had, and that just by so 
much as the loss is a great sorrow, the having was a long and 
lovely joy. Surely this is wise and truthful and simple, good 
piety — a source of good strength and comfort for us. For it 
will make great difference to us whether we tent our souls in 
the dark and narrow pass of our present loss, or in the wide sun 
of the plain of our long and blissful having. Therefore turn 
the mind from our losing to our having had. 'Tis piety aud 
help to do so. Saith a poet, " Some men, what losses soever 
they have, they make them greater; and if they have none, even 
all that is not gotten is a loss." I will show the difference be- 
tween looking on one side and on another by a good allegory 
which I have heard. Two pitchers were carried to a fountain 
to be filled. One said, " I am weary of this life of mine ; how- 



192 LOSSES. 

ever often I go away from the fountain filled, I always come 
back empty." " Why, how you look at it," said the other; 
u for my part I was thinking that however often I come empty to 
the fountain, I always go away filled." Saith another poet, 
"He is poor that has not lost." And truly so; for to loose noth- 
ing is fair proof of little to lose; small losses 'mean j small gains. 
But says the poet, also, " He is poorer that hath lost and for- 
gotten." Truly so again, and wisely said, with a knowledge of 
the human heart. For if one forget what he has lost, 'tis be- 
cause he was so little rich in the enjoyment of it that it is as if 
he had it not, and though having it he was poor with it. But 
the poet continues, "He is poorest who has lost, and wishes he 
might forget." Again wise and true; for if one have been very 
rich in the enjoyment of a beloved person, he will not wish to 
pluck that person from his mind because he hath fled from his 
side; no, but he will dwell on him with piety and a kind of glory. 
Therefore I say it is a good thought, with strength and comfort 
in it, that if things go, first they come, and that if we lose be- 
loved persons, first they came to us, and stayed with us a long, 
blissful time, by as much as the parting is sorrowful; and that 
we should fasten the mind on this thought. Once a maiden 
asked me to marry her to her lover who was very ill. I ques- 
tioned ber long and deeply, and warned her. " Have you con- 
sidered," said I, " that probably soon you will be left a widow? 
and all which that means?" " Yes," she answered; "but if the 
worst come at last, or come soon, or now, still it is such solemn 
joy to have had, and to remember!" 

The second thought is that as all things go, but first they 
come, so they come perfectly, completely; they are all ours. But 
they go away only partially, and only in a small measure cease 
to be ours. Fasten the mind on that. 

Purposely do I say "things" and not persons. For it is 
true even of things that they come to us perfectly and can be 
withdrawn only in part. If we have riches, they are ours, 
wholly. What may we not do that riches can do? We may 
build, plant, gather beautiful things, make centers of power 
and instruction, rear institutions, spread waves of happiness, 
refreshment, knowledge, rest, health. Do the riches fly away 
thereafter ? Perhaps. But the things we have done with them 



LOSSES. 193 

can not fly. The good fruits in our own mind, the buildings 
on earth or in heaven, the joys provided for others, the thrills or 
blessings we have set up in a heart — these wither not, these 
stay. The riches come perfectly to us, with all their power; 
but they can go away only imperfectly, leaving much power 
with us in immortal forms. But much more so is it with beloved 
persons. How completely they come to us! How perfectly 
they are ours — all ours! They touch us on all sides. They 
belong to us in every power of our being and work in us in every 
manner. To our hearts they come with perfection, to our love 
with wholeness. Without hindrance we wrap them in our love 
and cover them with it. They call forth our tenderest feelings. 
They break up the very fountains of the heart that it may stream 
over them. And they give us of their love in like measure. 
They unite with us in mind, they join in thoughts with us, they 
share the splendors of intelligence, glory with us in ideals, are 
thrilled with the beauties which illuminate us; they tremble with 
the harmonies which shake us. They are ours in soul; they 
know with us what religion is ; they love the truth with us, sing 
praises with us, inspire, hope, worship, pray. In all, they come 
to us perfectly. There is no limit to our drawing unto each other 
in earnest life. Power to power, love to love, thought to 
thought, they may watch with us and walk with us. With such 
perfection they come to us, in such heavenly manner they are 
ours! 

But how go they away ? Only a little. When the loss of 
them comes, how lose we what perfectly we have had ? Only 
in part; yea, in very little part. Of all the things which they 
brought with them, of all in which they were ours so perfectly, 
in such spherical glory, as the heavens are round about the 
earth on all sides, of all this union and blessedness, the loss of 
them by death can take away but one part, which is the perceiv- 
ableness of them by our senses. We can not see or touch or 
hear them any more. Some strange law, which yet we know 
not, cuts off so much as that. But that is all. Every other 
dear delight which they had with us, and were unto us, is fixed in 
us and immortal. They came perfectly, and perfectly they stay 
with us, except only with our senses. All the precious posses- 
sion of them in thought and love, all the trust in their faithful 



194 LOSSES. 

affection, the associations which they created in our minds, 
the memories, the intelligence, the pure joys of high devotions 
unto each other and together unto good things — these remain 
untouched. Not one throb or song or prayer of them all can 
the loss by death tear away. Memory hath charge of them. 
How rich a thought is this for us — That unto every power and 
possibility in our souls our beloved persons come; but they can 
be taken away by death from no more than our senses ! Surely 
what joy! What strength! What comfort! Fasten the mind on 
that. 

The third thought is that as things go away, but first they 
come, and as they come perfectly, completely, but go away only 
in part, so some things are dearer to us than others. But what 
things? Those that most belong to the mind, heart, soul — 
such as beloved persons. These being the dearest, therefore to 
part with them is the most painful of partings. But it is just 
they that leave most of their associations and of themselves 
with us when they go away, and part with us the least. There- 
fore, it is ordered very mercifully in the Providence and Law of 
losses, that we lose least those dearest blessings which cause 
most pain in the loss of them. Those most precious treasures, 
which by leaving us pierce us with the sharpest sorrow, are 
those which leave us the least. Fasten the mind on that. 

So careful are all things to depart from us in less degree 
than they come to us, so is it written in the divine nature of 
things that all things come to us completely after their kind, 
but go away from us only partially, endowing us with themselves 
in full measure, but being lost by us only in some measure — so 
rich and wide is this law that even the lower orders of treasures 
obey it, as I have said. Biches come completely, and all the 
power and grace of them is in our hands while they stay; and 
if they take wings, still they leave with us always the sweetness 
of what grace and joy we have builded with them. But riches 
fly away more completely than persons ,who are dearer than 
riches ; if they go they leave less with us. For we but use riches ; 
they can not use us. We but plan and do and execute with 
them. Wealth is a lowly instrument. We can not commune 
with it; 'tis a servant, not a friend; a thing, not a soul. We 
stand with it in our hands, but lay it not to our hearts. It talks 



LOSSES. 195 

not, loves not, sings not, nor studies, walks, counsels, prays 
with us. But when a beloved person is taken from us, all these 
things remain with us. He has conversed with us, he has 
mixed his very life with our very life, he has loved us and 
advised us, we have toiled together, and together hoped, 
feared, rejoiced, triumphed; he has become reason in our reason, 
his image is in the soul's eye, he has wept and laughed with us, 
grieved and danced, bowed down with us and been lifted up — 
our prayers have been one. When he is taken away, in how 
little part is he taken, being removed only from the senses, while 
all these joys and parts of him stay with us immortally. By 
as much as he is more precious than gold, by so much the less 
he can be taken from us. He is dearest of. all things to us, and 
least of them all he can leave us. " Death, where is thy Sting? 
Grave, where is thy victory? " No sting, no victory ! Only a 
precious, holy, heavenly sorrow, only a hunger of heart for the 
dear body or presence of the beloved person, because, in truth, 
he feeds the soul so much by all of him that remains that the 
heart hath the strength and health to be hungry. 

I leave these three thoughts with you touching losses: 

1. That 'tis true we lose precious things, but first we have 
them; they go, but first they come. Fasten the mind on that. 

2. That our treasures come to us perfectly, and are aZZour's; 
but they go away only in part, and leave great measures of 
themselves with us. Hence, we. have total gifts, but we can 
not have total losses. Fasten the mind on that. 

3. That the dearer our treasures are, which is to say, 
beloved persons, and those nearest to heart and soul, the less 
can they be taken away from us, and the more of themselves 
they leave with us. Therefore, our most precious gains and 
treasures, though the sorrow for the loss of them be great and 
divine, yet in the loss of them are less loss by the very measure of 
their preciousness and nearness, because they go away in the 
least part and leave most of themselves with us. Fasten the 
mind on that. 

When we look at the laws of having and losing, and the mys- 
teries in us, we feel borne in a vast and deep sea, even the life of 
God in us. I have heard of voyagers on the ocean, who, on that 
mighty heaving breast and rolling majesty, where the winds 



196 LOSSES. 

have free course, the waters rise, the vast waves yawn, and 
they that go down in ships are swayed as tree-tops in the blasts 
— have felt all peaceful and quiet, awed, quelled, but calm 
and even lulled, lying down to slumber as " rocked in the cradle 
of the deep." So may we be, on the breast of these thoughts 
of our losses, which is the law and nature of God. So may we 
live, awed and quelled, but calm, blest, till we too become a loss 
in our .turn — yet not so much a loss as first and forever a gain 
to our beloved— and borne on these depths of faith and of 
knowledge, we lie down, and after us they, and are not afraid, 
" rocked in the cradle of the deep." 



KELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 



Good and great thoughts or noble deeds are put into writ- 
ings. At once, or very soon, in this age of the world. After 
a long time, in the ancient ages. For in the old times, 
thousands of years ago, great thoughts and deeds of men, made 
into songs and poems, were held in the memory and passed 
from mouth to mouth for many hundreds of years. But 
whether very soon, as in our times, or after many years, as in 
the olden times, at last great and noble ideas are put into 
writings; and these writings make books. 

Therefore, we find all nations looking with great awe on 
books. Now always there is one book which a people holds to be 
greater than all others. They look on it with religious feelings. 
Sometimes they have so much awe of it that almost they fear 
to touch- it, and all their religion gathers about it. They never 
feel in this way about any new book, but always an old book. 
When it becomes so old that no one can remember anything of 
its beginning and no one knows when it was written or who 
wrote it, then they reverence it more than anything they have; 
and the older it grows, the more awe they have of it. This 
is the way in whicn people have felt about the Bible for 
many hundreds of years, even for much more than 1500 years. 
Many of the sayings and stories in it, and even some of the 
books, date back more than a thousand years before these 1500 
years. Their beginning is lost in this far-off time. We can 
not tell just how the Bible sprang up, who wrote its great 
pages, how long they floated in the people's memories before 
they were written down, or when, at last, they were put into 
writing. It stands there, as if never it was made by man. It 
looms like some great being out of a cloud, only dimly seen 



198 BELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

at first, and showing only his great size, but coming out at last 
with all his beautiful shape and mighty strength. We know 
more about the books of the New Testament; but even about 
many of them we know very little, they are so old, so wonder- 
ful, and tell such grand, strange things. So that for many 
hundreds of years since the Bible was finished and the New 
Testament was written, and all had grown old, this book has 
been the one which we have looked on with great awe. Peo- 
ple have taught their little children to lisp its sayings and to 
believe them the words of God. Men have gone to it for 
help and comfort in all troubles and struggles. They have 
looked into it to learn what to think of God, of life, death, duty. 
They have thought even that the Bible was the only source of 
knowledge of these things, and that there would be no religion, 
no knowledge of God, no help in life, no hope in death, if the 
Bible were taken away. For hundreds of years people have 
believed everything in it and thought every word of it was true. 
Even when it said things that contradicted each other, people 
have believed them both just the same, without seeing that 
both could not be true. It has been a sacred book, reverenced, 
worshiped, read with awe and with fear, also with hope and 
with love. People have rested on it their whole religion. It 
has been believed that God himself was the author of the book; 
that he guided the minds and the pens of the men who wrote it 
and told them what to say; that it is all divine, perfect, wholly 
true; and that we must obey it and trust to it altogether. 
Sometimes it has been thought there were some errors in it, 
some places, or even books, in which men wrote of themselves 
without divine guidance ; but only very few such places, and all 
the rest of it the true and perfect word of God. 

But now a great change has come over our way of looking 
at the Bible. Men look not on it with the awe which once they 
felt. They reverence its grand, glorious thoughts and the great 
deeds told in it just the same; but they are learning that there 
are very many mistakes in it, very many things also which are 
not noble and true but belong to the unfinished and wild times 
in which the writings sprang up. Men are ceasing to think 
that cruel acts and hard feelings, stealing, slave-holding, and 
other bad things, are good and right because the Scriptures say 



EELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 199 

God commanded them or permitted them; or that ever such 
things were good, or that God ever did, or ever could, com- 
mand them. When Joshua, as the Bible says, took many 
cities of Canaan and left not a single human being alive in 
them, either men, women or children, but slew them all, and 
sometimes in very cruel ways, men used to say that it was right 
because God commanded it, and that we knew God commanded 
it because the Bible says so; but now we say that it was wrong, 
and therefore God could not command it, and that the assertion 
of the Scriptures that he did command it is no proof at all. 
We say that in these places we have not the divine nature and 
commands, but the nature, cruelties and wars of a wild time 
and of a half-savage people. We have learned also that there 
are many places in the Bible which deny each other; that the 
same thing is told in two or three different ways very often, so 
that they cannot all be true.* We have found out also that the 



*Many contradictions in the Bible can be perceived and understood only- 
after a study of the books sufficient to give one a sense of the fact of the different 
authorship of different books, and even of different parts or the same book. 
Also it is to be said that the inconsistencies are of inferior consequence in the 
main. But this last remark is true only as regards the high and valuable sub- 
stance of the Bible, both as history and as religion. If the Bible be viewed as 
a divine revelation above human accidents or production, then the contradic- 
tions are very important, because, on this view, there ought to be none at all. 
With this preface, compare Gen. xv, 13 with 16 and Exod. xii, 40, wherein the 
servitude of the Israelites in Egypt is stated at 400 years and again at only four 
generations : Compare Exod. xii, 37 and 38, wherein, with 600,000 fighting men, 
beside women and children, and a mixed multitude, it is plain that the people 
must have numbered not less than 2,000,000, with Deut. vii, 7 and Exod. xxiii, 
27-30, wherein the people are called " few" and so weak in numbers that the 
inhabitants of little Canaan must be driven out gradually by the Lord, lest the 
wild animals should increase and possess the land against the Israelites : 
compare Deut. i, 35-38, iii, 23-28, with Numbers xx, 7-12, xxvii, 12-14, in which 
passages it is stated that Moses was forbidden to enter Canaan because he 
must share the condemnation of the whole people, and yet contrariwise,— 
because he himself had sinned at the rock, either by incredulity or by a self- 
glorifying manner: Compare Joshua xii, 7-24 and xiv, 6-10, from which it 
appears that Joshua overran the whole land and defeated thirty-one kings in 
five years ; with Joshua xv, 13-16, Judges I. i, 10-13, wherein it appears that others 
subdued Hebron and its dependencies after the death of Joshua ; with Joshua 
xvi, 10, Judges i, 29, which state that Gezer was not conquered, notwithstanding 
Joshua x, 33: Compare 1 Sam. xvii, about David and Goliath, with 2 Sam. xxi, 
19, where it is said that it was one Elhanan wbo slew Goliath; but in this 
reference the reader must consult the Revised Version, for the Common Version 
adds words not in the Hebrew, in order to make the passage agree with 1 Sam. 
xvii on the one hand, and with 1 Chron. xx, 5, on the other hand ; see " Bible for 
Learners," Roberts Bros., Boston, Vol. I, p. 506; and if this note meet the eye 
of any one who not yet has read the above translation of the admirable work of 
the Dutch Scholars, let me say that it will give him of the great Book a knowl- 
edge so fresh, so vivid, living and reasonable, that he will find it as stirring as 
a romance and as instructive as documentary history: Compare Mt. i, ii, Luke 
i. ii, 1-39, the miraculous birth, the magi, the angels, etc., with the evident 



200 EELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

books and parts of books (for even the same books seem often 
written by different hands) are of many different dates;* that 
each one shows the state of the people's minds at that date to 
which the book belongs; that the books treat the same fact or 
idea very differently because they were viewed diversely by the 
people at different dates in their history; and that we can trace 
in these books not one settled religious state, but slow growth 
from a low and barbarous condition to the milder traits and 
higher thoughts which we find clustering about Jesus. 

Besides all this, we meet another very striking fact; it is 
this: Whenever we read the history of any people (no matter 
what one; they are all alike in this), we find far back in the 
beginning a crowd of stories like the magic tales of the Arab- 
ians or like the fairy tales which children enjoy. Always these 
are religious and patriotic stories ; that is, they show the peo- 
ple's awe of powers and beings whom they looked up to and 
worshiped, and their pride about themselves and their native 
land. These stories tell how the gods of the nation did all 
sorts of magical things to show their favor, or to punish the 
people's sins; and how the great heroes of the tribe were 
befriended by their gods, and wonderful works done for them; 
and how the nation's gods proved themselves stronger than the 
gods of all other nations and gave victories in war by their 
magical help. The people believed these stories and delighted 
in them, just as children, who are simple, ignorant, full of im- 
agination, like primitive nations, enjoy their fairy books. The 
older the stories become, the more the people reverence them. 
At last the stories get written down and gathered in a book, 

total unconaciousnesb of his family that any wonders or glories surrounded 
Jesus, Luke ii, 48-50, Mt. xiii, 53-58, and his friends' conclusion that he must 
be insane, Mt. iii, 19-21: Compare Luke ii, 8-20, which certainly would have 
been noised abroad widely, and especially at Jerusalem, distant from Bethlehem 
only a three hours' journey, and the presentation in the Temple at Jerusalem, 
and the ecstatic declarations of Simeon and Anna, Luke ii, 22-38. with Mt. ii, 
1-12, where it appears that the events told in Luke were totally unknown in 
Jerusalem: Compare Mt. ii, 13-21, the flight and sojourn in Egypt, with Luke ii, 
39, where it is said that they returned at once to Nazareth. 

* For example, bits of Genesis, Exodus, Judges, Samuel, about 1,000 years 

B. C. ; bits of Exodus, Deuteronomy, Numbers, Proverbs, and several Prophets, 
Amos, Hosea, Micah, Isaiah, from 700 to 800 years B. C; Malachi, Job, many 
Psalms and Proverbs. Pvuth, Jonah, parts of Leviticus and Numbers. Ezekiel, 
Jeremiah, early forms of Joshua, Judges, Samuel, Kings, about 400 to 500 B. C. ; 
later form of Pentateuch and Joshua, Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah, about 250 B, 

C, See Chronology at end of Vol. Ill, " Bible for Learners." 



RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 



201 



and then the people reverence the book, thinking it records the 
dealing of the divine power with their nation ; and they go to it 
for their religion. Now, just such stories as these, which we 
find in the history of all peoples, we find in the history of the 
Jews also, and in the Bible which contains that history. In- 
deed, it is quite full of them. We read almost on every page 
that Yahweh (which was their name for God) was fighting in 
the battles of the Jews, that he routed their foes for them, 
confused the minds of their enemies, threw down the walls of 
cities, opened a way through seas and rivers, made the sun 
stand still that the Israelites might have a longer time to fight, 
and did a host of such-like wonders for his chosen people. 
Now, these things have shown us that the Bible, which is the 
history of the early and wild times of the Israelites and of their 
slow growth to a better state, has the same traits as the his- 
tories of other nations in their early stages and slow growth; 
which must be so, because mankind are the same everywhere 
and grow in the same way and show the same qualities in the 
same stages of their growth, just as children show like traits at 
like times from infancy to maturity. Therefore, we have to 
treat all these early histories alike. If we believe not the mag- 
ical wonders told in other early records, then we cannot believe 
those of the Bible, because plainly they are all of the same 
kind, spring up in the same way and in the same stages of a 
people's growth, and show a great likeness to each other where- 
ever they are found. 

But, besides all this, we have to remember that in the far- 
off times when the Bible and such-like early histories grew up, 
men knew very little about nature. They could give no account 
of a thunder storm, or of the rain, or hail, or wind, nor could 
they tell why rivers should rise at one time and fall at another. 
They thought the earth was flat and was the center of all things. 
They could not explain day and night, and had no notion of the 
spaces between the stars. For the stars they thought to be 
like lamps fixed in a curved crystal wall and made to turn 
around the earth. Therefore, all early records, and the Bible 
among them, have many errors springing from ignorance of the 
facts of nature, like the story of the creation in the Bible, ac- 
cording to which this great earth and the still vaster stars were 



202 EELIGION AtiD THE BIBLE- 

all made in six days ; or like the story of the deluge, wherein it 
is told that the whole earth was flooded mountain-high by 
means of rain. As the people knew not the true facts, many 
different explanations would be likely to arise — which, indeed, 
did happen. There are even two different accounts of the cre- 
ation, as you may see by reading carefully the first book of 
the Bible.* 

Thus, as I have said, because we have found things in the 
Bible which our science now shows to be errors; because we 
find many places in it which agree not together but tell the 
same thing in very different ways ; because mingled with grand 
and beautiful thoughts there are many things which are bad and 
ugly, having sprung from the wildeness and fierceness of an- 
cient and primitive times; because the different portions of the 
Bible bear different dates, and are not all the same in spirit and 
thought, but vary with the times they spring from; and because 
the pages are full of those same magical and strange stories 
which we find in all other early histories, — a change has come 
over our way of looking at the Bible. We call it not now as 
much as we did, and very many persons not at all, the word of 
God given to us to teach us the religion we ought to have; but a 
history, made by man, first passed by mouth from one to an- 
other for a long time, afterward written down, telling the 
thoughts, religious feelings, superstitions and deeds of the Jew- 
ish people during their slow growth from half -savage tribes 
loosely gathered and wandering together in a desert, to a united 
nation, to a higher religion and to a milder social condition. 

Now, this change in the view of the Bible seems to some 
persons to be giving up everything, even religion itself. They 
resist it as long as they can. They cling to the old way in 
which they were taught, of believing everything in the Scrip- 
ture simply because it is there. They wish to continue think- 

*The first narrative of creation is in Genesis i, 1, to ii, 3. This is a lofty, 
grand, noble poem, sublime in its conceptions. The second narrative is in 
Genesis ii, 4-25. This is inferior, even puerile. The two agree as little in 
details as they do in spirit and elevation. For example, in the first narrative, 
all the lower creatures are created first, and then man is created, male and 
female at once ; but in the second narrative, a man is created first, then the 
lower creatures, which are brought to the man to be named, and after this a 
woman is made of a rib taken from the man while he is asleep. To move from 
the i to the ii chapter of Genesis is to step suddenly into a totally different and 
lower world of imagination, sentiment and thought. 



EELlGIOtt AND THE BIBLE. 203 

ing the Bible the proof of the providence and being of God 
and of all the truths of religion. Indeed they have thought 
it so for so long a time that they cannot think there is any other 
ground of religion. Slowly such persons are forced to yield to 
the facts. If they be wilfully ignorant, shutting eyes and ears, 
they may keep on thinking as their grandfathers did before 
the facts came to light. But such belief will not merit the 
name of faith or of conviction; for it will be either without 
knowledge or afraid of knowledge. But if they be intelligent 
and willing to learn, then, I say, slowly their minds will yield 
to the plain facts. They will see that the Bible is not a per- 
fect guide; above all, that it is not the word of God sent to 
teach a lost and degraded world religious things which it 
never would learn otherwise ; but that simply it is the literature 
and history of a race which had a wonderful career and was 
endowed with a deep religious fervor. Now, when such per- 
sons learn these facts and are forced to see them, after re- 
sisting them as long as they can, often they are smitten with 
despair. They feel alone in the world. The sense of a 
kind of heavenly company and oversight of earthly things, 
great instances of which the Bible has assured them of, has 
gone. Their ground of trust or belief has been broken, per- 
haps rudely. They say, "Well, the Bible has been taken away, 
and I see nothing left. All is uncertainty and dispute, and I 
find nothing to rest in, and no ground for religion." 

Now, is not this what we must expect if we build a house 
on a bad foundation? A bad foundation is one that is not 
strong enough to hold the weight of the house, and gives 
way. But when the foundation crumbles and the house falls, 
it is not the fault of the house. The house may be good and 
fit to live in. The fault is in the unsafe and weak base we 
have placed it on. Suppose a temple to be built on a hill of 
sand, and the hill to stand as long as all is quiet. The beauti- 
ful towers and spires rise into the sky and make men's hearts 
glad, pointing to hope, trust, and power. Many generations 
meet together in the temple, and the older it grows, the dearer 
and more sacred it becomes. Its very walls seem holy thoughts. 
Its organ peal is the sound of the prayers of five hundred years. 
And meantime all has been peace. But one day, when the 



204 KELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

grand and beautiful building is trembling as usual with the 
organ, the people kneeling, comes a great wind sweeping down 
from the same sky that so long has given its light to the tem- 
ple. The sand is whirled into the air. The hill is torn to 
pieces. The temple falls on the people, while the sun is blotted 
out awhile by the flying clouds of sand and of fragments of the 
ruin. Is it the fault of the temple ? or of the worship of the 
people who were praying therein? Does the fall prove these 
things bad or false? No; only that they were set on a weak 
place unable to hold their weight when a strain came. This is 
indeed the same figure chosen by Jesus to teach the Jews the 
same lesson. He had been telling them they were building 
their religion on books and forms and priests, whereas they 
ought to build it on their own souls; and then he added, 
"With this bad foundation, your religion will stand for a time 
while the sky is quiet ; but what will you do when storms come ? 
Then your religion will be like a house built on sand, and will 
fall. But the religion built on your own souls, which I am tell- 
ing you of, will be like a house built on a rock and will stand." 
So, if you build religion on the Bible as a message of God to 
mankind, made by Him all true and perfect for that purpose, 
by and by the winds arise and the floods come; I mean knowl- 
edge, science and history. They come breaking in. They 
sweep away all false claims and make you see the Bible as it is, 
simply a human history of the growth of a race and of its re- 
ligion, and bearing all the marks of other ancient records. 
Then it may be very true, indeed, that the religion which you 
have built on the Bible as a miracle of God, will fall to ruin 
when that foundation, which I may liken to a hill of sand, is 
torn away by the blasts of knowledge ; but it is not the fault 
of religion, but of the weak and unsafe ground which 
you have made it rest on in your minds. And as, if a house 
fall to ruin (and think of this, I pray you) because it is ill- 
placed, on crumbling soil, not architecture or house-building, or 
the fitness of dwelling in a house, is overthrown, but only that 
one house, because it was ill-placed, so, if your religion fall to 
pieces when you are made to see the Bible as it is, not religion 
is overturned, but only your religion, which you have built upon 
a hean of sand. 



BELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 205 

What, then, shall we do if our house have fallen on us be- 
cause the bad foundation we built it on has crumbled. Will it 
be wise to sit on the bare ground, unsheltered, despairing, either 
sullen or whimpering, saying that houses are delusions, that no 
one can build a house able to stand, that nothing is left but to 
stretch ourselves on the cold sod and take whatever the bleak 
skies shower on us? In order to know that this is foolish, 
need you anything more than to look about you ? For you will 
see houses on all sides in which people live safely and happily, 
which no f even have been shaken by the wind that overthrew 
your dwelling; not because the inmates knew not of the gale, or 
because it passed them by, for they heard its roaring clearly, 
but because they had fixed their houses on a solid place. You 
will find many persons who have a religion in them which out- 
rides all the tempests of life, not only the blasts of knowledge 
and science, but the more furious storms of feeling, passion, 
pain. Very great persons of the earth you will see these to be, 
nobly intelligent, searching in mind, candid and truth-loving in 
spirit, sublime in act; and they think not religion is overthrown 
or has failed. They live under its roof, which is as steady as the 
sky for shelter, as glorious for sublimity, as starry for joy. 
They will tell you — these simple yet great folk, whom you may 
find about you plentifully, and also in ages past bearing great 
names, persons like Jesus, Socrates, Huss, Paul, Fenelon, Par- 
ker, and many more such-like — they will tell you that religion is 
not shaken by anything when it is founded on the human soul; 
that if it be built on a book, a church, on traditions in any 
shape, it can have no more steadiness than these things on 
which it stands have, which are changeable things, shifting and 
even falling to pieces in the lapse of time or by the growth of 
knowledge ; but that if religion rests wholly in the nature of 
man, it must have all the lastingness and power which the natur- 
al unfolding of human nature has, and nothing can have any 
more. It is true that men's thoughts of religion change from 
age to age. This must be so. For, however religion be sought 
and fixed in the soul, the mind cannot see all the truth about it 
at once, nay, it must go on learning forever how to think justly 
of religion and to travel its infinite regions. But this overturns 
nothing, because religion is not the same as this or that thought 



206 RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

of religion, but something that lives in the act of thinking and 
in the adoration of the truth as a living power. These changes 
of thoughts may alter religion, but not destroy the foundation of 
it; and if they be growth in knowledge, they may make the base 
stronger, as if a foundation of hard wood were changed into 
stone, and that again into pure gold, while the house stands. 

If, therefore, we see so many of the wise and good of our 
own times and of all ages, having a religion which is not 
shaken by anything, will it not be wise to think long before we 
say there is no religion and naught for a basis of religion, only 
because our own foundation has proved frail and crumbling ? If 
one foundation has failed, as if it were a sand-heap on the sur- 
face, shall we not be wise to dig deeply after another one, thus 
to find the firm rock ? For, if so many wise and great persons 
cherish religion, and it seem in them not only good, fruitful, 
but lasting, immovable, surely it were foolish for us to toss it 
away like a bauble full of flaws. At any rate, lei us think long, 
well, reverently. 

Now, if we think, we shall ask this question: Having "given 
up the Bible" in this manner, (our opponents charge, but un- 
just), what have we left? But this is a hard question to answer 
in a little space, not because so little is left, but so much. If 
it must be answered in a word, the answer is, everything. 

Imagine a man placed in very happy conditions in life. He 
has riches, and whatever riches can buy. He has beside, plenti- 
fully, the things riches cannot buy. His home is cheerful. His 
house is in a pleasing, healthful, beautiful place, having many 
trees about it, garden walks, flower-beds, fruit-vines and shrubs, 
generous orchards, a spring of sweet water, and a fine view 
of distant blue hills and ruddy valleys. His home rings 
with children and is filled with love. In a fine crystal case in 
the best room he has a huge spike like gold, by which he sets 
much store. All the family admire and praise it. Often they 
gather about that golden bar to wonder at its lustre, weight, 
value and beauty. But one day comes a stranger to the house; 
being shown the treasure of the family, he says, "The spike is 
not gold; it only looks like gold," and drawing a little vial of 
acid from his pouch, he touches the gleaming bar, and lo! a 
deadly gas arises and a stain remains which proves it to be false 



RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 207 

metal; for nothing so could affect pure gold. Then if the man 
and his family should weep and wail in despair and ask, "What 
have we left ?" it would be hard to answer such a question be- 
cause of the many great things that would be left. If they 
should ask, "What have we lost?" it were easy to answer, for 
it were but one thing, and that the least of their possessions. 
But if the question be, What have we remaining? it will take 
a long time to count the things left and much longer still to 
show and describe their values and how far they are above the 
false spike which has been taken away by the stranger's knowl- 
edge. In truth, we must say to the owner, "You have every- 
thing left! All that ever truly you had, is still yours. For 
only you itemed to have a spike of gold when in truth it was not 
gold." So, if any ask, Having given up the Bible, as the phrase 
goes, what is left ? either we must count all the great, good and 
deep things of life, which have such vast meanings, or we must 
say in a word, everything! and we must add, "We have all 
that ever we had; for we only seemed to have a miraculous book 
set up in our house to be held in awe because miraculous, but 
in truth it was a simple human history; a book like all others 
of its kind, but we knew not its true nature." 

But I say, although a stranger with his knowledge has shown 
us the truth about our book, taken away our mistake about it, 
made it come down from its crystal seat, we have everything 
left ; for, never truly we had any more than now, but only seemed 
to have more by ascribing a false worth to something. I will 
gather into two points the things which we have left-r-EVERY- 
thing ! 

First, we have the Bible left. This may seem strange and 
bold. But ask yourselves what you really mean by giving up 
the Bible. You will see then that this is a wrong thing to say. 
For in truth you mean only that certain things in the Bible 
have been taken away; that the idea that the book is a mirac- 
ulous revelation from Grod has been corrected in your minds; 
that some stories, precepts and thoughts have been shown not 
to be true, nor divine, but to be only the pride, patriotism, re- 
ligion, superstition, of the Hebrew people; that these are things 
not belonging to the heart of human nature and to the heavenly 
truth, but to the feelings, prejudices, customs and ideas of a 



208 RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

far-off time in the growth of one race, and that these have been 
taken from a false light in which we had put them and from a 
place they deserved not, and set in their true light and place. 
But all the grand things in the Bible, that eternally are true 
and as wide as humanity, remain to us, nor are taken away, 
nor could be. The figure of Moses is a colossal one. The story 
of Joseph is as tender as ever it was. The poems of Genesis 
are as pleasant to the imagination. We have still, and forever, 
the mighty warnings or joyful comfortings of Isaiah and the 
other prophets, the grand poem of Job, the deep religious love 
and worship of the Psalms. Jesus walks still in Galilee, glori- 
ous, beautiful, heavenly, heroic, and all the grandeur and loveli- 
ness of His spirit, which so calls out the soul, remains un- 
touched. Stephen still defies his judges with the truth and 
looks up to heaven, dying. Paul is the same strong, wide- 
rninded, free, devoted, fearless spirit who preached that God had 
made all nations of one blood, and that forms are bad and bar- 
barous if they keep men apart from each other. These remain. 
These are the grand and life-giving things in the Bible. They 
cannot be moved. 

Finally, we have ourselves and the Universe left, 
our own souls and God. This is the one source of religion, 
full, inexhaustible. All other things are helps. The soul's 
sight of divinity encompassing it, is the one perfect and immov- 
able ground of religious life. For comfort, for help, for hope, 
faith, trust, for depth of moral convictions, for understanding of 
life, we need only the soul and God. The beholding of other 
souls is great and life-giving; we drink in their beauty, lofti- 
ness, sacrifices, glory. But we return into our own soul, as 
the holy place wherein we can hear God speak for ourselves. 
This we can hear, for it is our nature to know and perceive 
the infinite beauty and holiness in which "we live and move and 
have being.' ' God never was in any time more than in this 
time ; nor nearer to any soul than he is to our own souls ; nor 
more speaking and telling his commands and his being in any 
hearts than now in our own. This is the only authority. This 
is the one source of religious knowledge. This is the rock on 
which worship builds its shrines of everlastingness. This is the 
source to which went the greet prophets and singers of the Bi- 



RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 209 

ble. We Lear of it in the Psalms. Isaiah, Jesus, Paul, say it 
is the source of life and knowledge. What was the source and 
ground of religion for Jesus is the same for us, and the one that 
rests on a rock. We need no more. Therefore, we find we 
have no more, nor can have. Religion is not a sum of things 
put into us by a time past, or by a record of God's doing and 
speaking in other places ; but a life that rises within us and 
comes out of us skyward, like flame, seeking its source. It is 
natural, sure, steadfast, being in the relation of the soul to God, 
of our life, love and thought to then Infinite and Eternal 
Source. Religion needs no more. For naught can be so close 
to us and so deep in us as our Infinite Source, the Being of our 
being. This is our nature; this is also life and religion, from 
which the Bible itself rolled forth. 

' The word unto the prophet spoken 
Was writ on tables yet unbroken ; 
Still floats upon the morning wind, 
Still whispers to the willing mind ; 
One accent of the Holy Ghost, 
The heedless world has never lost." 



To this point now we have come: 

1. That the Bible is a human history and literature, con- 
taining the story of the Hebrew race and the course of the 
growth of the Hebrew religion. 

2. That this Hebrew literatare is marked by the traits of 
all ancient histories and literature. 

3. That very prominent among these traits is ignorance 
of Nature's laws, and marvelous magical stories springing from 
this ignorance. 

4. That thus many old views of the Bible have passed 
away; but that all the pure religious beauty, the lofty psalms, 
the moral grandeurs of that great Book remain undisturbed, and 
are everlasting. 



210 EELIGION AND THE BIBLE 

Here we may turn to look at the Bible and religion in an- 
other manner, and may do so by means of this question, 
"Which of them depends on the other?" For it is not to be 
doubted that the Bible is a book of religion. It holds a wonder- 
ful religious literature, always severe and earnest, often lofty 
and glorious. Since then, it is a religious book, not a scientific, 
philosophical or merely literary work, not a history merely, but 
both a religious history and a book of devotion and of prayer, 
plainly either religion must have come forth from the Bible, or 
the Bible from religion. This is a great difference and lies at 
the root of the matter. It is a question of the very nature of 
religion — whether it be natural, and grow up out of the human 
soul, or whether it be supernatural and be put into the soul. One 
view, the old view of the Bible about which I am speaking, is 
that great religious truths shine not in us by the light of 
nature but must be put into us by divine power ; that the Bible 
is the Word given for that purpose ; that by it alone we learn 
truly His providence and nature, faith in this life and hope of 
the hereafter; and that but for this light of revelation in the Bi- 
ble we should be in darkness as to all the ways of God with men 
and the things which he has in store for us. The other view is 
that religion is natural and necessary to man's nature, and rises 
in us as love, thought, memory, self-consciousness do; that it 
grows up from within by the action on us of the glories and ter- 
rors of the earth and sky, of the infinity of space, of the unend- 
ingness of time, and of the power of the moral law; that it 
begins in low states and grows purer and higher with time; that 
it clothes itself in many forms, in institutions, rites, books, and 
that it is able to make such impress of itself as the Bible is ; 
that thus the Bible has sprung from human sentiment of reli- 
gion, and bears witness to the power and sublimity of this fact 
of human nature, and rests on it. 

Between these two views there is no middle ground. 
Granting that the Biblical books are Scriptures of religion, then 
either religion came forth from the Bible or the Bible sprang 
from religion. 

Now, if the former be true, if religion came from the Bible 
and begin for us in its pages, then of course any disturbance of 
that book disturbs religion, For then to move the Bible, even 



EELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 211 

a little, is to shake the whole fabric of religion, which springs 
from it. If religion begin in the Scripture, if without that book 
we should have no religion beyond a few feeble and doubtful 
gropings of the unaided mind, then it is very true that whatever 
aims to set aside the miraculous parts of the Scriptures and to 
place the Bible on the plane of human life and of nature's order, 
threatens religion itself, if not its very existence, yet its influ- 
ence and authority. But if religion begin not in the Bible, nor 
spring from it, but on the contrary, if the Bible have come from 
religion and be one of the many forms in which human worship 
and religious feeling has clothed itself, then it is plain that re- 
ligion is not moved at all by any change in our view of the Bi- 
ble or by any new knowledge of it that can be gotten ; for relig- 
ion being the source, and the Bible but one of the streams that 
has flowed from it, the source is not affected by anything that 
betides the river below. We may make any discoveries or 
gather any knowledge whatsoever about the Scripture ; religion 
stands unmoved the same; for the Bible is not the origin of 
religion but religion is the origin of the Bible. 

If we study the stream that flows from a mountain 
spring or from a lake far up the heights fed by the perpet- 
ual snows of the peak, we may learn something about the 
highland source of the river. We may analyse the river wa- 
ter, and after finding in that way what it holds dissolved in 
it, how much lime, or salt, or magnesia, or iron, or carbon, 
and other things, we may say, "These, then, are also in the 
source of the river; the water of the mountain basin holds 
these things also." But soon, perhaps, by exploring more, we 
find another stieam emptying into the river above the place 
where we tested the water; and this stream comes not from 
the mountain source, but from some rills and brooks that 
traverse a stretch of woodland only a little elevated. Soon 
we learn that some of the things in the river-water below, 
come from this stream and are not in the river above the 
mouth of the little tributary. Thus we may correct our view of 
what the waters of the high upland source contain, by learning 
what is added by the little streams that flow in along the river's 
course. But whatever we may learn or infer about the kind of 
water in the snow-fed lake of the hills, that basin is not moved 



212 RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

away by any changes in our knowledge of the river and of its 
tributaries below. However long and much our knowledge of 
its waters may vary, the great river that flows from it shows it 
to be there. So it is with the Bible and religion, when we see 
clearly that religion is the source and the Scriptures the river. 
By study of the Bible, the river, we may learn much of the na- 
ture of religion, the source. By care and pains to find out 
what has gotten into the Bible from other streams of historic in- 
fluence, from the traits of a race or of several races, from preju- 
dices, passions, patriotism, ancient ignorance, from the fervent 
imagination of people in their childhood, from the mode of 
keeping and of handing down books in old times, we may draw 
nearer and nearer to knowing the true essence of religion, the 
source of the main stream. But whatever we may learn about 
the Bible, and thence infer about the place, nature and growth 
of religion in human history, we are not overthrowing the 
fact of religion itself, since religion is the very origin of the Bi- 
ble which we study, and, indeed, of many other great Scriptures 
beside. Therefore, I say, that if religion come out of the Bible, 
and rest on it, then it will be at the mercy of whatever af- 
fects the place and power of that book; but if the Bible have 
sprung from religion and rest on it, then religion is the chief 
and first, and stays unmoved whatever may happen to the 
book. 

Let us see, then, what are some of the reasons why it 
is true that religion rests not on the Bible, but the Bible on 
religion. 

First, religion is older than the Bible, very much older. 
Before even the Hebrews began to write down their history, 
even long before they had collected much which they passed 
from mouth to mouth for many generations before writing it, 
they had a religion, which also their fathers had, going away 
back to their seats in the hills of Armenia. And long before we 
begin to walk on historic ground in the Hebrew history, with 
Moses and the Egyptian captivity, religion had lived some 
thousands of years in Egypt. We cannot get back to its be- 
ginning. The traces of the religion of the forefathers of the 
Hebrews, their fearful and austere deities, germane to a race 
living in a country of hills and hard soil, are plentiful in the 



RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 213 

Bible. But the trace of the first human worship is lost in an 
antiquity compared to which Moses is a modern hero. How, 
then, can religion rest on the Bible if religion was before the 
Bible ? How can religion flow from the Scripture if religion 
came first? Plainly, the Bible, which came after, owes its re- 
ligious part to the religion which went before, which was the 
half-blind, but also the half-seeing and altogether sublime, 
struggle upward of the human soul. 

Secondly. There have been many nations and races on 
the earth that never knew of the Bible, both before there was 
any Bible and since. Yet these had their religion, and even 
large, often grand, Scriptures of their own. The Egyptians, 
the Chinese, the Hindoos, the Persians, the Greeks and Romans, 
the Norse tribes, — all had their religion, their hymns or Scrip- 
tures, their worship and rites, some of them very noble and 
grand. Yet none knew of the Bible. How, then, can religion 
depend on the Bible and spring from it, when there are many 
religions, and grand religious Scriptures and devout hymns, 
among people who never knew of the Bible, and if they had 
heard of it, would not have thought it so great as their own old 
Scriptures ? Plainly the books of the Bible, which are the Scrip- 
tures of only one ancient race, can not be the source of religion, 
since religion has inspired many other Scriptures in other races; 
but religion is the source of the Bible as well as of other old relig- 
ious Sriptures, and is one and the same origin of devotion in all 
lands and times. 

Thirdly. " The sympathy of religions " shows their com- 
mon origin in human nature. They agree together. They say 
the same things, utter the same hopes, fears, faiths, struggles, 
because they all belong to the same human nature. The 
grander and loftier the things are of which they speak, the more 
the religions are like each other, because then they are busy 
with the universal and the eternal. There is a common sense 
to be met in all the great seers and prophets of whatever times 
or people. What the trusty steadiness of matter is to Aristotle, 
Franklin, Napoleon, to be counted on with certainty, that the 
higher law is to Confucius, Socrates, Paul. What plant-life, 
animal-life and human society, are to iEsop, Shakespeare, Cer- 
vantes, that the spiritual life is to Buddha, Isaiah, John, Jesus. 



214 EELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

All these teachers and others such-like, are sure to show this 
common sense and to say the same things of the eternal and 
unseen in morals and in Being. The greater they are, the 
more they are alike, because then they have less of the accidents 
of time and place and more of the common humanity. Pick 
out from the sayings of any high seer, Jesus, or any other, the 
best and highest things he has said, and you will find he gives 
not anything new to the world, but bears new witness to great 
truths already old. Every seer finds the earth long full of 
glories, of visions, raptures, knowledge, faith. He can only 
point to them once more, add nothing to them but his adoration. 
No matter how strange, quaint, bygone, half- barbarous are the 
imagery and legends. Pierce to the few grand thoughts thus 
clothed. You will feel the beating of the one heart, both human 
and divine. Jesus taught the nature of God's fatherhood in 
the exquisite story of the Prodigal; but the psalmist long be- 
fore had spoken of Him as One who pities us "like as a father 
pities his children;" and an ancient Hindu cries, "Lord, 
heaven and earth take refuge with thee as a child with its 
mother." The same simple-great thoughts look forth every- 
where, thoughts of God, of the Unseen, of the Eternal, of Eight 
and Wrong, of Truth, Love, Forgiveness, Holiness, Immortality. 
Thus religions are at one, because they have one source, namely, 
the human soul, which is the image, witness and abode of the 
Eternal Life, and everywhere one in Him. Plainly therefore, 
if all religions have this common nature because they all arise 
in the human soul, then they have not their source in any Scrip- 
tures said to come from Heaven, but the Scriptures have their 
source in the religion which lives in mankind, the witness of the 
human soul to the Infinite and Eternal. The Bible is but an 
expression or outflow of that religion which is before it and be- 
fore all Scriptures, the source of all powers, of all hopes, all 
prayers. 

Fourthly. The great prophets themselves say that religion 
is chief and first in the human heart, and in authority above all 
the written word. This was the constant stress of Jesus, — - 
"Why even of yourselves judge ye not what is right?" in- 
somuch that it was noticed and spoken of that he based not 
himself on the elders, traditions, writings, but spoke on his 



RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 215 

own account, so that they were surprised at him because, "he 
spoke as one having authority, and not as the scribes." Very 
well might they say, " Never man spake as he spake; " for any 
one will startle the world in an instant who will speak wholly 
from his own soul, throwing to the winds all priests, princi- 
palities and powers. This was because Jesus withdrew from 
the tyranny of the ill-used Bible to the native religion within 
him, the source of all the grandeur and power which the Scrip- 
tures had, the origin not only of their due authority (due to their 
beauty and sublimity) but of authority itself. It was the same 
with Socrates. He was accused of setting at naught the com- 
mon idea of religon. The like befell Paul. He preached a 
righteousness of faith, that is an inward light and judgment, 
as being far above all righteousness of the law, that is, servile 
obedience to the letter of the ceremonies as if religion were 
founded thereon. He said, " Let every man be fully persuaded 
in his own mind," and "As many -as are led by the spirit of God, 
they are the sods of God," and, " There is no difference between 
the Jew and the Greek, for the same Lord is Lord over all, and 
is rich unto all that call upon him." 

Thus these four reasons I have given for holding that re- 
ligion comes not out of the Bible; but that it is first and the 
Bible comes forth from it: 1. That religion is older than the 
Bible, and that the elder can not spring from the younger, but 
the Bible which came after is an expression of the natural re- 
ligion which was before it: 2. That there are many religions 
which never knew the Bible, but made Scriptures of their own 
whence plainly the Bible and all other Scriptures are alike in 
springing from religion, which thus blooms into holy books and 
other forms: 3. That the sympathy or likeness of religions, 
especially in their noblest and highest thoughts, shows that they 
have all one common source, which is the natural religion of the 
soul, from which all Scriptures and other forms and expressions 
thereof, have come forth: 4. That the great prophets, even 
those enshrined in the Scriptures themselves, always withdraw 
from the letter to seek the light of the spirit and proclaim its 
authority. 

Whence, again I say, as the Scriptures come forth from 
religion and not religion from the Scriptures, religion is not 



216 BELIGIGN AND THE BIBLE. 

overthrown, nor in any wise shaken, by our critical views of the 
Bible as a historical expression of religion, nor by our discoveries 
of the influences which have affected the Book during its many 
ages of human transmission. 

And now I think I hear a voice, perhaps the united voices 
of many persons, saying to me, " What then is the religion of 
the soul which you say was before the Bible ? We can under- 
stand what the Book tells us, that God did many and great mir- 
acles to show himself to the Hebrews and that he sent his son and 
word, Jesus, the greatest miracle of all, to teach men Christian- 
ity. But if this be not true, and is only the form in which re- 
ligion clothed itself in early times and among ignorant peoples, 
then what is the elder and natural religion? Whence comes it? 
How is it to be known ? and, What does it proclaim ? Tell us 
this." 

Ah! if any ask me this, be it known to you that it 
is a great question, the question of questions; not because it 
is difficult to answer, as it seems to me, but because it 
is so grand and so far-reaching. It lays hold of our sense of life, 
of all our deepest feelings, of the mind's soaring necessity to 
seek knowledge, of the power of the moral consciousness, of the 
experience of peace. It is a transcendent theme in itself, 
which, if there be strength I will strive to follow sometime and 
will ask you to strive with me up that shining mountain path in 
the everlasting hills. Meantime I will answer thus — Beligion 
springs in the human soul because of the house the soul lives 
in. I mean not the body; which I might better call the gar- 
ment of that mysterious intelligence. I mean the home in 
which the thinking, feeling, willing, struggling heart and mind 
finds itself cast to live. Now, if a child grow up in a vile and 
wretched home, filthy, cruel, base, painful, where no love nor 
peace ever shine, you will not wonder if the child grow up hard- 
ened and depraved till all tenderness and sweetness be gone, 
and only an ugly, horrible, misshapen Caliban of strength sur- 
vive. But if the child be cast into a blissful home, clean, 
sweet, gentle, generous, where love and peace abound, then you 
wonder not that these same qualities grow large and beautiful 
with the child's growth, and make a being able to extract life's 
sweetness and to give to others, So it is with the soul of man, 



RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 217 

in which religion grows by reason of the house or home it lives 
in, because the great and mighty things in that house can call 
forth the awe, love, praise of the soul, which lie in it waiting to 
be called, as much as love and gentleness and beauty lie in the 
child waiting for the home to nurse them. That house in which 
the soul lives is the Infinite. The Infinite covers it like a roof. 
Wherever the eye turns, the Infinite appears. First, the eye 
gazes into space, and there is no end to be seen or thought. 
Worlds on worlds are climbing, as if each were some radiant, 
ambitious creature mounting on another's shoulder thus to 
scale heaven by a living ladder. But from the farthest star, so 
far that it might be blotted out and we should not know it for 
hundreds of years because the light at this moment leaving it 
takes all that time to reach our eyes, there still are skies as 
full of stars as our own, and no end and no beginning. Or does 
the soul turn its eye inward and look at its own being ? It sees 
but a little way. Soon it kneels, faint or awe-struck, gazing into 
an abyss as dark, as bright, as deep, as close-encircling, as the 
vault of the skies. In this Infinitude the soul sees love, 
thoughts, desires, feelings, moving and shining like the stars, 
rising and setting in itself, past all understanding. What a 
house to live in! Then wakes the native worship of the soul! 
Then quickens its awe, praise and prayer! For this house in 
which it lives, the Infinite, draws it into its own likeness and 
fills it with its own nature, whereby it knows and adores the glory 
and beauty of its home, which is the glory of Grod. 

A great French man of science, who has fame for minute and 
delicate investigations in physical science world-wide, yet has 
not had his eye closed thereby to the majesty of his soul's 
home — I mean Pasteur — says: 

" What is beyond this starry vault? More starry skies. 
Well, and beyond that. The human mind driven by an invinc- 
ible force will never cease asking what is beyond ? * * * It 
is useless to answer ? ' Beyond are unlimited spaces, times, mag- 
nitudes.' Nobody understands these words. He who proclaims 
the existence of an Infinite — and nobody can evade it — asserts 
more of the supernatural in that affirmation than exists in all 
the miracles of all religions; for the notion of the Infinite has 
the two-fold character of being irresistible and incomprehensible. 



218 EELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

When this notion siezes on the mind, there is nothing left but 
to bend the knee. In that anxious moment all the springs of 
intellectual life threaten to snap, and one feels near being seized 
by the sublime madness of Pascal. * * * Everywhere I see 
the inevitable expression of the Infinite in the world. By it the 
supernatural is seen in the depths of every heart. The idea of 
God is a form of the idea of the Infinite. As long as the mys- 
tery of the Infinite weighs on the human mind, temples will be 
raised to the worship of the Infinite, whether God be Brahma, 
Allah or Jehovah; and on the floor of the temples you will see 
kneeling men absorbed in the idea of the Infinite. Metaphysics 
do but translate within us the paramount notion of the Infinite. 
The faculty which, in the presence of beauty, leads us to con- 
ceive of a superior beauty — is not that too the conception of a 
never realized ideal? What is science, what is the passion for 
comprehending anything, but the effect of the stimulus exercised 
on our mind by the mystery of the universe." 



Having come now to this point, that some things in the 
Bible, heretofore held sacred and important, must be given up, 
because they are not true, and yet religion is shaken in nowise, 
but is the same truth and power in the soul, it will be well to look 
more closely at what we give up when we conclude that the 
Bible is not a special revelation from God, and see, since religion 
is not disturbed, what the effect is on the Bible itself in our 
minds. 

First. We must give up the miraculous element. We 
learn that the strange magical stories of the Scriptures are not 
narratives of real events, but myths and legends ; that some- 
times they spring wholly from an idea, being the forms which 
the idea took in the minds and literature of the people ; that some- 
times they are founded on some fact, but happened not and 
could not happen just as they are told. Thus, for example, we 



BELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 219 

can not believe any longer in the wonders of Samson's strength 
because we know no man unaided could kill a thousand 
men with an animal's jaw bone, and that if he had any such 
strength as that, it could not be lost simply because his hair was 
cut; and many persons think this is a pure myth, an expression 
of some of the people's ideas about the sun, having no historical 
fact under it. Thus, again, we can not believe that all the 
plagues of Egypt, the division of the Eed Sea, and other won- 
ders at the same time, took place as they are told; but these 
seem to have some foundation in fact. Legends gathered about 
a remarkable escape of the Hebrews from bondage in Egypt led 
by a great and strong hero. But whether the miracles be pure 
myths, enshrining an idea only, or legends, having some kinds 
of fact in them, the world is giving up the miraculous parts, 
having learned that such things never take place. 

Secondly. We have given up all the local and temporary 
matter, the prejudices, notions, customs and thoughts of one 
race at different times in their history. We believe not any 
longer that these things are rules for us in our different stage of 
knowledge and altered ways of living. Thus, the laws of 
Moses about marriage, and many other things, we can not think 
to be laws commanded by the Most High, but only the ways in 
whieh the Hebrews of those early times looked at things. In- 
deed, Jesus plainly felt in this same way ; for he refers to the 
old laws of an eye for an eye, and of loving one's friend and 
hating one's enemy, and of marriage, and says they are not 
good laws and he has better ones to give, the laws, namely, of 
forgiveness, and of returning good for evil, and of constancy. 

Now the question is, What is the effect on our views of the 
Bible and our feelings toward it, of giving up these two elements 
as not divinely ordained? The effect is that the grand, beauti- 
ful things in the Bible shine all the brighter and stand forth all 
the greater for the taking away of the transient local things, 
and the magical things. For when we cease to look at the par- 
tial things, then things true and lovely everywhere at all times, 
appear more plainly and nobly. The same knowledge which 
shows us that the miraculous stories could not have hap- 
pened and that the ideas and deeds of half wild and ignorant 
times can not be laws ©f God for us, also makes us see better 



220 KELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

the meaning of the whole and the sublimity of the great and 
universal parts of Scripture which came from those deeps of the 
soul where all times and peoples are alike. It is great and 
thrilling to see that amid all the strange beliefs, rites, thoughts, 
feelings of barbarous people, thousands of years ago, the human 
heart beat, if not so delicately, yet as passionately, joyfully, pain- 
fully, as now, and that the soul was filled with awe as solemn 
as our own, though not so reasonable and enlightened. 

To attend first to the miraculous element: 

The fact on which to fix the eye is this, that the miraculous 
stories in the Bible simply are the form in which the people pro- 
duced or embalmed their ideas or efforts. If we understand not 
this, we can not take another step forward. The early efforts 
of mankind, whether in thinking or doing, express themselves in 
this imaginative way. Marvelous story is the form taken by 
history, and tne clothing worn by thought, in primitive times. 
Imagination then is vivid, feelings strong, religious sentiment 
active, the critical sense unwakened, writing unknown. There- 
fore the people mingle all their feelings and deeds with their 
religion and weave them together in stories which please their 
fancy and cling to their memory. No one invents them. They 
spring up like the fancies of children. They are repeated from 
mouth to mouth and cherished because they fit the mental con- 
dition of the people perfectly. Thus all history, all thought, all 
sentiment and religion, in very early times, find their way into 
the form of imaginative and magical stories. Now if we dwell on 
this form as itself the fact and having actually taken place, we 
shall miss the true substance of the fact which did occur, or of 
feeling and of thought which were active. If we occupy our- 
selves with this shell, prizing it for all, we shall be busy with 
the rigid form outside and shall not know the soft and tender 
life within. Suppose we were to take the imaginative talk of chil- 
dren for fact. They play that they are all manner of creatures 
and express their fancies in the most simple and literal way, 
exactly as primitive races do. They are so simple that for the 
time being they actually are to their own feelings, steamboats, 
locomotives, horses, lions, tigers, and all sorts of quaint things, 
" and every wariety of furriner," as Dan'l Pegotty said; 
and will talk to invisible objects and to creatures of their own 



RELIGION AND THE BIBLE- 221 

fancy as pleasantly and earnestly as to each other. Suppose, 
now, when we see a group of children neighing, prancing, roar- 
ing and puffing, like horses, wild animals and engines, or talk- 
ing volubly to chairs and tables, or to invisible things, and pre- 
tending to receive answers, we fall to reasoning how they can 
have been changed so as to make sounds like animals, or how 
it happens that wood and stone can hear and answer them 
while we perceive no voice from these objects, or how children 
can have companions invisible to us, — we shall be very foolish; 
and thus in fastening on the mere form in which the child- 
nature utters itself, and in treating this form as literal fact, we 
shall fail altogether to understand the child nature itself bub- 
bling up in these fancies. Children are running over with the 
most daring poetical images, such as that the stars are angels' 
eyes, or the fire-sprinkled skies the under side of heavenly car- 
pets. Suppose we should straddle, like a rustic, over a garden 
path on which a child had uttered some such courageous thought 
and with gaping mouth and eyes strained open we should look 
for the angelic forms owning those starry eyes, or wonder how 
the gleaming skies could be a carpet and what the upper side 
might be like; we should get no fact for our pains, and we 
should miss the blooming fact of childhood's rich fancy. Yet 
in just this foolish way we have treated the old legends which are 
the fancies of the childhood of the race; whereby we cheat our- 
selves with unreal and ghost-like visions, and fail to see the 
workings of nature. This distinction between form and matter 
underlies all art, poetry, everything that adds beauty to life. 
The form must be limited, made in some fashion by man, be- 
cause it is man's way of expressing the facts of life which man 
made not. " We must take some things for granted;" else all 
poetry becomes imposssible, all pictures deceits ; for in actual 
fact neither do men speak in rhyme and metre, nor exist in 
minature on a canvass. Suppose we take the painting on the 
canvas for literal fact in itself; we shall be occupied with the 
curious lilliputian creatures we shall think the figures are, and be 
measuring the inches of them, missing utterly the meaning of 
the artist, the human passions, or the loveliness of the earth's 
face, which do actually exist in life and in nature. Yet this 
would be no more foolish than to take the old religious legends 



222 RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

of humanity for actual facts, when they are only the simple and 
child-like forms expressing the hopes, fears, loves, faiths, wor- 
ships and struggles of humanity, which are real and living 
facts. 

Now, when we have given up these tales, when we see they 
never could happen just as they are told, wheu knowledge 
shows us that these quaint stories are not miracles and magical 
feats but only rhyme, metre, colors containing a far higher order 
of facts, the facts of the human soul in its struggles, then the 
effect of dropping the stories as facts is to fasten the eye on the 
true facts; so that the efforts, throes, triumphs of the heart of 
man come out to view in their pathos and glory Thus if we 
read the many wonders of healing recorded of Jesus, by which 
were cured all manner of sick people, lame men, lepers, paraly- 
tics, demoniacs, blind and dumb, lunatics, those afflicted with 
dropsy and hemorrhage, and others, and even the dead, these 
being raised to life, — and if we take all things as true facts just 
as they are told, and as miracles, we soon lose sight of Jesus, 
and stand in a dull wonder before these stories. We might even 
be like the Jews, who are said to have felt no respect for 
the facts because they thought Jesus had made a bargain with 
the king of the devils and by this aid did the cures. Whatever 
we call the power, if we take the stories as magical or miraculous 
facts, whether the magic be of heaven or of hell, Jesus, the man, 
vanishes in a shadowy conjuror whom we barely see in the 
clouds of spells and witchery, because we are so occupied with 
the amazing marvels. But if we see these stories to be only 
forms in which the fervent heart of the time expressed the 
majesty and personal power of Jesus, then we begin to think of 
him. We study the incidents to see what manner of man he was 
around whom such forms of expression grew up, and how he ap- 
peared to the men who, in a childlikeness of ignorance and 
mental habits, imagined that his presence and touch did such 
great works. Then his grace, benignity, beauty and force begin 
to shine. Or if we read how Jesus rose up in a boat and stilled 
a storm by a word, and think it happened just as it is told and 
was a miracle, we shall be as much at a loss about Jesus as 
the disciples were, who were afraid and said, " What manner of 
man is this that even the winds and waves obey him ?" But 



RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 223 

if we know that this story is only a primitive form of expression, 
and that the true matter and fact in it is the impression made 
by Jesus on his companions, then we begin to have knowledge 
of a great, serene and glorious man, and not of a mysterious 
wonder-worker. 

What, then, shall we say is the effect of giving up the mir- 
acles of the Bible ? The effect is that these things which once 
we thought to be facts and true events we see now to be the 
form in which quite other and wider facts are expressed; and 
seeing this, we need give only so much notice to the form as is 
required to bring the substance to full view. We can fix our 
eyes on the true and valuable facts which the form enshrines, 
and know them better. Thus to give up the miraculous events 
of the Bible is to bring the real truths of it into clearer view, so 
that the great Book at once seems greater still, full of new 
beauty and sublimity, because no longer we mistake the form 
for the fact, but look at the real and true facts themselves. 

But there is another effect of giving up the supernatural 
in the Bible even greater than that already spoken of, bringing 
the Bible even into a more grand relief. The miraculous or 
magical element is not only a mere form of expression, but it is a 
primitive and barbarous form. Therefore, when it is held not 
only for form but for fact and the magical stories are thought 
really to have happened, we are in a very low grade of belief, 
which does more than anything to hide the true sublimity of Na- 
ture and of History. For the sublimity of Nature is Order, and 
the grandeur of historical development is Order. But miracles come 
trooping in on every page of the Scripture like clamorous child- 
ren into high company, interrupting but not adding anything. 
The creation we are told was done by a series of divine biddings 
issued over chaos as a general commands his troops; then by 
many special acts of power the unfolding goes on until men be- 
come both numerous and wicked, whereat it repents the 
Creator that he made man at all, and thereon he sends a flood 
which drowns all the people but one family; afterwards man- 
kind grow again too] proud and bold, and the Lord comes down 
to confound their speech, making many languages ^instead of 
one, so that the people no longer understand each other, and 
wander away by hordes over the earth; then when finally the 



224 RELIGION AND THE BIBLE- 

Jews are collected and ill-treated in Egypt, they are set free by 
all manner of astonishing miracles done for them, and led by 
Moses to the verge of the promised land; there the Lord be- 
comes offended with them and turns them back to wander for 
forty years up and down a sandy waste till all of that generation 
have died ; then by many other miracles they are brought into 
Canaan and made to conquer it, while the Lord helps them by 
drying up rivers, knocking down the walls of cities, making the 
sun stand still, and confounding the minds of their enemies. 
Now if we look at all this as form, we shall find many noble 
poems in it, like the opening chapters of the Bible. But if we 
take it for fact, there is no grace in it. It is disorder, revision, 
repentance, petty planning, wavering will. It is no better to 
the mind and some of it no grander to the imagination than 
those extraordinary pictures of eastern life, the Arabian Nights. 
There is nothing magnificent or divine in cursing a country with 
vermin and reptiles, defiling the wells and killing the first-born 
of every creature, by way of rescuing chosen people from bond- 
age. As long as the mind dwells on such things as facts, it so 
will be dazzled by them that it will not see the things which 
make the true worth of the great Book. Men so might light up 
the skies with fire- works as to hide all the stars, the flames and 
fumes of human doings obsuring the everlasting lights. Thus 
miracles hide the order of nature which reigns in humanity 
and in history. The mind by dwelling on these flashes 
which gleam close to the eyes, loses power to see the sober 
and serene motions of nature's works which go on beyond. And 
this is what happens with regard to the Bible; for men so have 
been blinded to its pure and peculiar beauties and true great- 
ness by dwelling on these magical tales, that very many 
persons even think the whole value of the great book rests on 
these stories. If we believe not these, they say, we throw the whole 
Bible away. Is it not not a sad thing so to be blinded by these 
forms in which anciently men have tried to express themselves, 
as not to see the universal facts of soul which they strove to 
express, or even the divine and touching fact of the out-singing 
expression itself, the struggle to utter the facts of life ? Yet 
this is what happens when one thinks the Bible and its worth all 
to be gone if the miracles be taken away. But, in truth, it is 



EELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 225 

just then that we can see religion in its own simple nature, 
and the Bible coming forth from the religion of the human soul. 
We see these things in their pure simplicity as parts of nature, 
like the flowers that grow on the earth. " Does God," says 
Weiss "present himself to our intelligent cognitions as a mere 
performer of inscrutable things? Then the feeling which I 
have at smooth feats of Heller and Hermann is religion. Would 
it not be a pitiful idea to make mysteriousness the exciting cause 
of human faith ? What is more palpable, immediate and fam- 
iliar than our sense of right or wrong ? Yet how we love and 
adore the cause of this simplicity !" 

To gain the use of anything we must know it as it is. For 
no tool will serve us if we handle it not according to its own 
nature, but like some other tool which it is not. Nay, more 
than this, — all that we need for admiration, love, worship, 
quickening of the soul, is to see things as they are. The 
more we look at the world, at the past, at mankind, at the 
present, letting go our prejudices and getting knowledge in place 
of ignorance, we shall see the more of beauty and graudeur. 
Knowledge opens the gate of wonder, admiration, awe. There 
was a time, as even in the Bible we see, when all nature seemed to 
men alive with spirits, who moved it. Wonderful and delicate 
creatures lived in trees, in the waters, in the hills and clouds, 
and made these things move, bloom and open as they do. 
The sun and moon were living beings, and angels trundled the 
stars. Knowledge removed all these agents. Have many souls 
feared to lose all majesty, mystery and beauty in a cold and 
lifeless level? Have they thought the world of feeling, of pas- 
sion, of imagination in which early men lived, was dead? But 
knowledge has only enlarged admiration and dignified emotion. 
Is not the new thought of a vast unfolding of life something 
grander than the manufacture of a world? " Suppose," ex- 
claims a philosopher, "we were this instant to lose our knowledge 
that the earth is a ball, swinging in space, one of a troop of 
worlds more numerous than the sands on the sea shore, but 
arranged in systems moving in harmony, instinct with perfect 
law; and that we were left to think with men a few centuries 
ago, that the earth is a flat space of uncertain extent, without 
fellowship in the universe, that the stars are candles and the 



226 EELIGION AND THE BIBLE- 

sun a moderate ball of fire, going so near the earth, as even Lord 
Bacon thought, as to burn the snow off the higher mountain 
tops. Sweep away from us I say this moving, magnificent spec- 
tacle of order; sweep away the very conception of natural law, 
which conception is a new birth in the world; make it impossi- 
ble for our souls to be touched with that religious sense of unity 
which now is ours when in the falling of a pebble and the sail- 
ing of a star we heboid one and the same central force and law; 
landlock us once more within the limits of the horizon, and let 
us again see in the incidents of nature, not order and everlast- 
ing perfection, but at best only celestial caprice; and who will 
say that we should not lose truth and spritual impression which 
reveal God to every eye, and feed and enlarge every soul ? Who 
will deny that all" this knowledge is part of that by which our 
spirits are this day expanded, our hearts this day touched and 
awed?"* If that the life of a tree comes from a nymph in it 
seem a thought that makes the tree more glorious and myster- 
ious, this is only because we have not learned to see the glory 
and mystery of One Life joining all trees and all other things 
in One Body. Men can invent no way by which anything hath 
a countenance so grand as it hath in its own place in Nature's 
Order. 

Thus, when we have given up the miracles as facts, and 
know that they could not happen as they are told, three great 
effects follow in our view of the Bible. One is that, not being 
dazzled and blinded by these showy and glittering things, we 
shall see the true beauty and worthy things of the Bible, which 
are sober, solemn, serious. These are the efforts of the human 
soul to utter its faith and worship; the lofty hymns of praise, 
prayer or peace ; the picture of human struggles, passions, pains, 
victories in the slow growth of knowledge and of religion — 
strength, weakness, hope, birth, death, suffering, pity, love. 
These are the things of the Bible which endear it to the heart, 
and to the mind, and help us to know mankind and God's deal- 
ing with us better, by reason of the moving and wonderful pict- 
ure of human toils, sorrows and joys so far away. 

Another effect is that not being buried any longer in the 
disorder, derangement and litter of miracles, our eyes are un- 
covered to see the sublime order of nature which goes steadily 

*David A. Wasaon. 



RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 227 

on, with no room in it for miraculous influence, nay, between 
grass-blade and star not room enough for one miracle, gathering 
all creatures and things into one infinite harmony which is never 
disturbed. In this unity the Bible itself is included. We see it 
in its place ; not outside of the infinite movement, but in it, a 
part of it, joined with all Nature, and giving us a sight of the 
natural unfolding of religious thought. 

Another effect is that we have nobler thoughts of God 
when we have turned utterly away from the miraculous tales of 
his acts. If we think of him as the magical stories show him, 
he will seem a king who often finds that he has made mistakes, 
who repents him of his acts and constantly is correcting his 
creation, who grows angry and inflicts vengeance by monstrous 
deeds of power. But if we think of God, as a sight of nature's 
glorious order will lead us to think of him, he will be the One 
who lives in all, the Eternal, Infinite, Perfect Order and Life, in 
all things and all creatures, and filling souls with light and joy; 
the " Path, Motive, Guide Original and End " of the glories of 
life and of the serenity of death, the Being of our being " in 
whom we live and move," "with whom is no variableness, 
neither shadow of turning." When we have turned away from 
the miraculous stories, we see the Bible, in better relation with 
these higher thoughts of God, uttered in its most sublime and 
devout psalms and prayers. 

'* It is not in nature to respect the false and yet reverence 
the true." Wollaston made it the essence of religion simply to 
acknowledge everything to be what it is. To empty out error 
is to make more room for truth. We have nothing to fear; for we 
may be sure that when we see anything more truly, all things will 
be glorified. " Let me really know one divine thing," said John 
Weiss, "though it compels me to unlearn half a dozen predilec- 
tions, and I am seeing so much of God instead of a considerable 
portion of myself." 



So far, now, I have spoken of one class of things which we 
must drop from our view of facts in the Bible. We have to 
own that they happened not as they are told, but are forms in 
which other facts or thoughts are expressed — miraculous 



228 RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

stories, so many in the Bible, so interesting and simple when 
understood truly, but otherwise misleading, confusing, de- 
ranging. Now, I come to other kinds of things also in the 
the Bible which we have to look on as untrue for us in spirit. 
They are facts, indeed, and important facts when we study the 
history which the Bible contains; but they hold not any spirit- 
ual value for us, nor moral worth. They cannot guide us nor 
give rules for conduct or feeling. If we should follow them, we 
should be doing foolish or wrong, or even barbarous and cruel, 
deeds. These are the local and temporary things in the Bible, 
belonging to times and conditions long past, and below the 
spirit of our milder and better times. Let us look at these 
more closely, by some examples of them ; whereby we may see 
that in giving up these as revealed commands of God, learning 
that they are only stepping stones or halting places in a nation's 
growth, we are clearing our minds to know better the nobler 
uses of the Bible, beholding in its great and lasting truths the 
face of religion itself. 

Now, to lead the way to this knowledge, we have simply to 
think of this, that nothing is found ready-made, mature or per- 
fect; but everything grows and unfolds. We used to think the 
Bible contained a religion all complete and ready, the true re- 
ligion, one and the same in all parts of the book. No doubt 
many persons think so now. They reason not about it, nor com- 
pare one part with another to see if all have the same spirit and 
equal worthiness. 

Many persons read the Bible through in course again and 
again, thinking they do something religious. But in truth they 
only take the good things, bad thing and neutral things as all 
of the same worth ; by which they fail to dwell on the great and 
true things till their quality shines, because they spend so much 
time on the little and false. Indeed, it is even worse than this; 
for in old Scriptures the grand, true and lasting things are 
never so many as the false and fleeting. The great thoughts 
that uplift and thrill us are very few and simple ; but each is so 
deep that they suffice to draw from forever. But the local and 
temporary things, the rites, customs, prejudices, events, 
thoughts, which were the groping of the people after the true, 
the simple, the infinite — these are very many, various, some- 



BELIG10N AND THE BIBLE. 229 

times crowded together almost without end, and continually 
changing from age to age. So that if we give heed to these 
transient things in the Bible, so we shall be lost in the multi- 
tude of them as to have neither mind nor time to know the 
simple, -life-giving and glorious things of it. It is these few, 
simple and great things, moreover, which are the same in all 
religions and Scriptures. Wherefore, if we miss these in our 
own path, our minds never will widen to the fellowship of 
humanity. The unceasing gropings of the early peoples, some- 
times very blind, often pitiful, always touching, helped those 
primitive men, who thus sought the infinite and eternal; but 
they blind us if we fill our eyes with the clouds of gropings in- 
stead of with the holy things sought by them. 

We know that in the Bible we see religion in process of 
growing. We behold the Hebrew race changing from wander- 
ing tribes, loosely connected, to a compact nation. This was 
not a quick change. We can trace it going on for many hun- 
dreds of years, through exciting events, sometimes terrible 
struggles. And side by side with this wonderful change, we 
can see religion growing, coming forth from low forms into a 
higher and purer state. Thus, in the Bible we find two great 
orders of fact, the things toward which the people and their re- 
ligion were going, and the things which were the different points 
or stages on the way. We may call these two orders of fact, 
the end and the means ; or the local and the universal ; or the 
temporary and the everlasting. The difference between them is 
that the universal and everlasting things, to which all religion 
tends, exist for themselves alone; but the other things, the local 
and temporary, exist only for the sake of the higher things, 
being the efforts of men to reach the divine and unchangeable. 

Therefore in the Bible we must look for the great and uni- 
versal truths toward which we see religion going; but we must 
treat the local and temporary things as simply bygone and done. 
Thus when we read in a psalm (ciii), 

•' Bless the Lord, O my soul, 
And forget not all his benefits : 

* * * 
Who redeemeth thy life from destruction ; 

Who crowneth thee with loving kindnesb and tender mercy. 

* * * 
Like as a father pitieth his children, 
go the Lord pitieth them that fear him. 



230 RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

or in the tender Hosea (xi., xiv.) 

"They knew not that I healed them ! 

I drew them with human cords, with cords of love ; 

I will heal their backsliding and love them freely ; " 

and compare these thoughts with the savage fury of the Lord 
when he put whole cities under the ban and ordered all the peo- 
ple, even the women and children to be killed; and with his 
cruelty even to the Israelites when they vexed him ; — we see 
that in the psalm- singer and in the gentle prophet religion has 
grown up to the thought of a wide, tender, just and pitiful Prov- 
idence, starting from the thought of a deity profuse in favors to 
a chosen few but fierce and cruel toward others. Thus again, 
when we read of the many sacrifices and other rites enjoined in the 
Bible, and we see that the Israelites could not bear to come to the 
Lord empty-handed, but wished to appease him with gifts, offer- 
ings, sacrifices of animals, and even human sacrifices and kill- 
ing of children; and then read the words of Micah (vi.), 

" Wherewith shall I come before the Lord 
And bow myself down before God on high? 
Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, 
With the sacrifice of calves a year old? 
Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, 
With ten thousands or rivers of oil? 
Shall I give my first-born for my transgression, 
The fruit of my body for the sin of my soul? 
He hath showed thee, O man, what is good, 
And what the Lord doth require of thee ; 
What but to do justly, to love mercy. 
And to walk humbly with thy God, — " 

we see that religion has grown from outward things, low forms 
and cruel sacrifices, to justice, mercy, humility and goodness of 
heart. When we read of the false and wily plot of Jacob by 
which he spoiled Esau of his father's blessing and gained it him- 
self, and find that, in spite of his base treachery, he gained the full 
favor of the Lord and that favor was shown him in a beautiful 
and ecstatic dream while he was flying from Esau's wrath ; and 
then turn to the words of a psalm (xxiv.), 

"Who shall ascend the hill of the Lord? 
And who shall stand in his holy place? 
He hath clean hands and a pure heart ; 
Who hath not inclined his soul to falsehood, 
Nor sworn decietfully ;" 

and to Isaiah's words (xxxiii.), 



RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 231 

"He that walketh righteously and speaketh the truth, 
He that despiseth the gain of oppressions, 
That closeth his hands from holding bribes, 
That stoppeth his ears so as not to hear of blood, 
And sliutteth his eyes so as not to behold iniquity, — 
He shall dwell on high." 

we find that religion had bowed before a deity who could bless a 
low and hateful cunning with success and favor; but that it had 
grown out of this low state to be opposed to lies and treachery. 
Now, when we see these great differences in the Bible touching 
religion and the nature of God, on the one side anger, fury, 
cruel sacrifices, base plots, and on the other side mercy, pitiful- 
ness, truthfulness and the simple religion of the heart — surely 
we cannot think these alike, and of the same excellence. We 
see that the love, goodness and simplicity are universal and 
lasting thoughts toward which religion was moving; and that 
the sacrifices, cunning and cruelty were the local and temporary 
form on the way. And when we see this clearly, cease to 
trouble ourselves with the by-gone stages of the great movement, 
and mingle them no longer in our mind with the true and pure 
picture of religion, then the universal, simple, everlasting 
thoughts, toward which all the motion was setting, we shall see 
shining unobscured in beauty and power. Thus religion seems 
higher and nobler, and the Bible a grander vehicle of it. 

But let us take a closer look at the partial and temporary 
things of the Bible which fall away. It would be a long and 
useless task to take them all one by one; for, as I have said, 
they are very many, and the great truths toward which they are 
growing, are few and alone in their sublimity. But the partial 
things, belonging to the stages of growth, may be looked at 
many at a time, in groups; since they spring up in different 
ways, and those that arise in the same way have a likeness to 
each other. In fact, we may collect them all into two great 
groups — those that relate to place or to the locality in which the 
people lived; and those that relate to time, or to the duration 
and different stages of the people's development. 

First among the passing and shifting things that relate to 
place I will mention customs. Every place has its customs. 
Sometimes they can be traced to other places from which they 
came, or far back to some known beginning in the place where 
they are found; but very often nothing is known of their origin 



232 RELIGION AND THE BIBLE- 

or age. They simply are found in a particular place, and no- 
where else, and no one knows how they came there. Often 
these customs have no part in the religion of the place; but 
sometimes they are religious customs; and the older and more 
mysterious they are, the more they will be likely to gather 
around religion. Now, there are many such customs in the 
Bible, which are put forth as a part of religion in that great 
book. Yet we can see very plainly that they are things hav- 
ing no needful part in simple religion; and that often no one 
knows, and the Jews themselves knew not, how or when they 
sprang up. The observance of the Sabbath is such a cus- 
tom. Moses did not ordain it as a new thing; he found it 
existing. But perhaps he changed and turned it into a special 
devotion to the god Yahweh, whom he wished the people to 
worship alone or chiefly. No one knows how old it is, or 
where it arose. The week of seven days is found nowhere 
else, except among the Egyptians, and the special day of rest 
nowhere but among the Israelites. Very likely the week arose 
from the worship of the seven planets, the sun, the moon, Mars, 
Murcury, Venus, Jupiter and Saturn, which were known from 
very ancient times; wherefore seven always has been held a sacred 
and mysterious number. Very likely one of these days was held 
especially holy because the god to whom it belonged was es- 
pecially feared; and it seems plain that Moses, or the movement 
which bears his name, may have turned this observance toward 
Yahweh and increased its sancity. But all this is uncertain, 
lost in the remote past. The Jews themselves not always ob- 
served the Sabbath.* Not till a very long time after Moses did 
they become very strict about it, and some were much more 
strict than others. Yet this custom, of which so little is known, 
has been lifted by many people into a necessary part of reli- 
gion, as actually commanded by God; because in reading the 
Bible the eye has not been fixed on the great and everlasting 
thoughts toward which religion was moving, but on the passing 
things which were simply like fleeting waves in the motion. 

Other partial and passing things arising from place, spring 
from climate and from geographical features. As it is plain 
that the climate in which a people lives, the earth's features 

* Nehemiah xiii., 15. 



BELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 233 

of plain, mountain and sea, fertile lands or deserts, and the 
heat or cold, must affect deeply the character of the people, so 
it is certain these things will affect their religion also, and es- 
pecially in the beginning. For at first men are not able to 
weigh one phase of nature against another and pierce to the 
meaning of the whole; but they take for the whole the one 
place where they are. If the people live where the earth is fer- 
tile and the sea at hand, or ample lakes and rivers, it is likely 
they will be shepherds, fishermen and tillers of the soil. The 
religious rites of such people are gentle, like their occupations. 
But if a tribe live in dense forests where many wild beasts 
roam; or in rocky and hilly places where they must hunt in 
order to live, they will be warlike and fierce ; and the religious 
rites of such people are wild, harsh and cruel. Among the 
earliest objects oi worship are the powers of nature, the sun, the 
winds the rain, the sea, the rivers, the forces of the earth. 
Now, when a ^people lives where these powers are gentle and 
helpful, where the sun shines temparately, the winds are peace- 
ful, storms rare or slight, the earth bountiful, so that plenty and 
quiet surround the people, the gods they worship are kind and 
placable, even complacent and pleasure-loving, and the religious 
rites are not only gentle and humane but sometimes even sink 
into debauches and sensual excessess. When a tribe, on the 
other hand, inhabits a rough and barren country, rocky and 
wild, exposed to floods or fierce storms, or to a scorching and 
untempered sun, their gods are fierce, cruel, revengeful, and 
they are worshiped with harsh and bloody rites; but also they 
are austere, stern, pure and holy. Among the eastern nations 
from whom our ideas come, the place of punishment hereafter 
was thought to be a fiery furnace, because their hot climate 
gave them a terror of heat and a pining for coolness; but 
among arctic people, hell is a place of perpetual freezing, be- 
cause their climate makes them dread the cold and long for 
heat. Now, some of the temporary things in the Bible sprang 
from such influences of climate. The Hebrews had an austere 
and holy god, Jehovah or Yahweh, because their ancient seats 
were in a sterile and forbidding country, where men had to 
work to live; but he was also cruel and harsh as well as 
holy, and therefore the religion of the people had many fearful 



234 BELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

rites in it, and their history is full of religious terrors. But 
these we see to be only the struggles of human hearts to find 
the true and eternal among the conditions in which they were 
placed. It is a history full of a terrible kind of pathos, of a 
great but sombre magnificence too; but we must not take these 
wild harsh things as part of religion, but as springing from 
the conditions of the people while they were seeking pure reli- 
gion. They were the partial and passing things on the way, 
while the human heart was going toward the everlasting, sub- 
lime, simple thoughts of religion. 

Another way, depending on place, in which partial and 
shifting elements entered into the growth of religion in the Bible 
was by historical events and influences. The different peoples 
whom the Jews met in their wais and trading, affected their 
character and their religion. Thus they gathered ideas which 
sprang not up among themselves at first, or they changed or in- 
tensified thoughts which they had already. I will take one ex- 
ample of such historical influence. About six hundred years B. 
C, the Jews were conquered by the Chaldeans and carried off 
prisoners to Babylon. After they had lived there about fifty 
years, Cyrus subdued the Chaldeans and permitted the Jews to 
return to their old homes. Many did so, but also many stayed 
in Babylon and remained a long time in close contact with the 
Persians. These Jews were not unmindful of their country, 
race or religion. They kept a warm interest in the fortunes and 
efforts of their brethren who had returned to Judea, in the tem- 
ple which they rebuilt, and in all the religious hopes and prides 
of their race. Indeed they studied their religion so much that 
they collected and drew up careful laws and rules for it, which 
were taken to Jerusalem and became very sacred and powerful. 
But also they were influenced by Persian thoughts from which 
they took some new ideas or some changes in their own old 
notions. One instance was a belief in wicked spirits or bad 
angels and especially in one ruling wicked spirit, Satan, which 
now began to take deep root among the Jews, from the Persian 
influence. Before this the Jews had ascribed everything to 
their god, Yahweh or Jehovah. He, they said, did everything, 
made everything, the bad and harmful things as well as the 
good things. But it was hard for them to think that the deity 



EELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 235 

whom they believed to be so holy and so favorable towards his 
people could make also so much evil for them to bear. Now, 
the Persians had an easy way of meeting this trouble. They be- 
lieved in two principles or powers, a good one and a bad one; 
and from these two came, they said, the strife of good and evil 
in the world. This thought the Jews took, and henceforth the 
belief in Satan and in his wicked spirits grew and prevailed, so 
that we find it appearing in a very strong form in the New Tes- 
tament, where Satan is said to tempt Jesus, and do many things; 
and his demons are constantly bringing diseases and miseries 
among men. Now, this is one of the things in the Bible which 
we must simply put away. "We cannot think there is any arch- 
wicked spirit who delights in evil, whose whole business is to 
struggle with the good power of God and to prowl among men 
to do them all the harm he can and to carry them off to his hor- 
rible home if possible. But we can see clearly how this idea 
crept into the Bible, whence it came, and even when it began to 
be taken.* So that if we use this knowledge in reading the 
Bible, we shall not fall into the foolish thought that Satan and 
his imps are a part of religion and do really exist, because the 
Bible speaks of them. We shall see that they belong not to 
the simple and grand ideas toward which religion was going 
slowly, with so much pain and struggle, but still going; but that 
they are among the passing things on the way, got by 
the Jews from a foreign source and taken by them just as they 
might have adopted some art or industry. 

From the temporary things in the Bible which arose from 
the conditions of the places the people lived in, turn now to 
those changing and fleeting things which arise from the mys- 
terious fact of time. 

One of the chief of these is general ignorance. It takes 
time to learn anything. It takes a very long time to learn 
much. Men have been hundreds of hundreds of years learning 

* The designation "The Devil" occurs not at all in the Old Testament. 
The proper name "Satan" is in Job i, ii, where he is a good angel whose duty is 
to serve as opponent or prosecutor and push the case against Job as far as pos- 
sible and put him to the most thorough trial ; in Zechariah iii, where he 
appears as in opposition in such a manner as to incur reproach or rebuke ; 
finally in i Chronicles xxi (third century B. C), where he is given a distinctly 
evil character. These four places contain all that is said of Satan in the Old. 
Testament ; but in the New Testament the name abounds, as does also the 
designation " The Devil.'' 



236 EELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

about the most common things around them — what rain is, 
how the winds rise, how plants grow, what light and heat and 
sound are, how the sun shines, how the stars move, and 
other countless things, some of which indeed we still under- 
stand very little. The ancient Hebrews knew nothing of these 
things, and the Bible is full of their ignorance. They thought 
the Creator made the earth and the heavens in a few days, 
and then brought all the beasts to Adam to be named. They 
supposed that the earth was a plain with a crystal lid arched 
over it; and above the arch their deity had his palace with 
troops of angels to do his bidding and with hosts of stars 
over which he ruled. They believed their god came down 
from his palace sometimes to walk on the earth, and then 
made bargains with men and with other creatures. If wild 
beasts and birds ceased to annoy the people, they said, 
Yahweh had made a covenant with these creatures by which 
they were persuaded to be quiet.* 

Now, this ignorance did no harm to these ancient men. 
They were learning as quickly as they could. They had a great 
deal to do in striving with powers of nature which they under- 
stood not. They had to pass through many steps of thought 
while they were learning; and they toiled along very well. A 
great deal of our happiness springs from their labor, because 
they did their parts so earnestly and so well. But their ignor- 
ance which harmed them not, would harm us very much, if, be- 
ing so many hundreds of years forward in knowledge, we now 
should go back to this ignorance for our religion. Yet, so we 
do, if we take these old ideas, which were only steps on the way, 
because the people had not had time to learn any more, — if we 
take these, I say, to be the high and heavenly religion of nature 
toward which the soul of a great race was going. This is to 
read the Bible, not as living intelligences now, but as if we 
lived when the Bible was making. This is to mistake a stage 
of progress toward religion, as the people did who were in it, for 
the purer and grander religion to which they were going. But 
we have looked on that noble religion, as they reached it; we 
have heard the songs and the psalms of it, and read its simple 
yet infinite thoughts; and we ought not to make that mistake. 

* See Hosea ii., 18 : compare Gen. ix., 10. 



EELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 237 

Another group of ideas in the Bible which we have to leave 
behind us, as indeed the people that once cherished them left 
them behind, is those forms of thought which make the natural 
order of development. Not only did not religion rise instantly 
mature and perfect in the Bible, and not only does it never ap- 
pear thus in history, but it follows always a like manner of growth 
and passes through like stages everywhere. This is because 
the human mind is the same in all places, and unfolds in the 
same way. Therefore there is a law of the growth of religion, 
a method or order according to which the transient stages on 
the way appear and disappear, while the people go toward pure 
and simple religion. The first form of religion is the worship 
of all manner of lifeless objects; anything whatever, no matter 
how small, or ugly, or grotesque, may be worshiped at this first 
stage, even objects made by the hands of the people themselves. 
But the objects are conceived to be living and powerful, in some 
sense, because of a spirit or soul dwelling in them. The worship 
springs from fear. The gods and the people are equally selfish, 
and the worship consists in gifts, sacrifices and servile cere- 
monies, by which to appease the gods and win their favor. Signs 
of a higher stage appear when the people woiship great or living 
objects in nature like trees, large bodies of water, animals and 
especially the sun, moon and stars. These stages of religion 
often are found together, the people worshiping many things 
at once, from unhewn stones to the stars. This religion belongs 
to the tribal condition of the people, before national life has 
begun. Then comes another stage; the tribes become a nation, 
common traditions are handed down, and the many different 
objects of worship pass into a number of " great gods each rul- 
ing some separate part of nature or of the life of men." This is 
polytheism. Gradually, either by the supremacy of one of the 
gods who grows so great that all the others are neglected for 
this one, or by other ways, another stage enters; the many gods 
vanish and only one is worshiped. At the same time a holy 
book, a scripture, a law arises, which is the sacred rule and body 
of the religion, containing the word of its wonders, the forms of 
its worship and its poetry and precepts. Finally these ideas 
gradually are elevated, chastened, spiritualized, by the growth of 
knowledge and by the softening of manners and of feelings. 



238 EELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

The last stage, — simple, pure, natural religion is reached. Now 
these stages are seen plainly in the Bible. Early in their his- 
tory the people worshiped stones;* and indeed for many 
years after Moses, they are found worshiping many different 
gods.f But they had one god whom they thought greater than 
all the rest, Jehovah or Yahweh, as especially Israel's god. 
There were other gods, but Yahweh was above all, and was the 
god of Israel alone, and Israel could have no other. The next 
step was to call the other gods '• false gods," and to say that 
Yahweh alone was a living spirit and true God. After this, 
the thought of Yahweh was chastened, glorified and endeared, 
till the merciful and holy image seen in the psalms and prophets 
arises. Side by side with this movement, is a like softening and 
chastening of religious rites. We see them in the Bible, coarse, 
riotous, and even cruel, as in the story of Abraham and Isaac, 
and of Jephtha's daughter ; we see them also grow better and more 
chastened, till even the spiritual thought is attained, and Jesus 
says, " God is spirit, and they that worship him must worship 
him in spirit and in truth;" and a psalmist sings (ii.), 

•' O Lord open thou my lips, 

That my mouth may show forth thy praise, 

For thou desirest not sacrifice ; else would I give it ; 

Thou delightest not in burnt offering. 

The sacrifice which God loveth is a broken spirit ; 

A broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise." 

Here in sayings like this of Jesus and like this of the psalm 
singer we stand on the heights of the Bible, on the grand and 
simple religious thoughts which come out of the human heart 
by nature and always thrill the soul. To this the people with 
their religion were struggling, climbing, through all their strange, 
wild, wonderful, pathetic history, for so many hundreds of 
years. Here we rest. Here we fasten our eyes. All other 
things are but stopping places and stages on the way to simple 
religion, enshrined at last in the psalmist's pious prayer. 

Let me sum up these facts in a few lines. This is the 
truth — that we have not in the Bible a religion ready-made for 
us, complete and perfect, consistent and equally good in all 

* See " Bible for Learners," Vol. I., chap, xxiii. For example of ascribing 
some kind of power or consciousness to stones, see Joshua, xxiv., 26-27; also 
Gen. xxviii. , 18-22. 

i-This fact is mentioned abundantly in the prophets, and throughout 
the Old Testament : e. g. Hosea (about 800 B. C, 500 years after Moses) ii, 8 ; xiii, 
2 ; iv, 17 ; xi, 2. 



EELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 239 

parts of the Book, divinely ordained and communicated. This, 
I say, we have not. It were not in the order of nature, which 
is an order of growth. But, as in all other religious records, so 
in the Bible, we have religion growing, from feeble, low and wild 
beginnings in strange fancies and barbarous rites, to the few sim- 
ple but mighty faiths clothed with power to heal and bless the 
child and sage alike. Therefore the Bible holds one order of 
facts which are the thoughts of religion to which the people 
are growing, and another of facts which are only the stages 
and forms of the growth as it takes them up and then drops 
them, on its way. Therefore we read and value the great Book 
well when we search it for the simple, immutable and eternal 
truths of natural religion which were the aim of the struggle 
and the motion; but we read it ill and miss this simple 
sublimity if we mingle therewith the shifting forms and " broken 
lights " on the way. 

This truth is a very plain one. When we hear Jesus say- 
ing, " Love your enemies, bless them that curse you and pray 
for them that use you despitefully and persecute you," and on 
the cross, "Father forgive them, for they know not what they 
do;" and then we read David's curses on his enemies (if David 
wrote psalm cix.), 

" May his days be few 

And another take his office I 

May his children be fatherless 

And his wife a widow 1 

May his children be vagabonds and beggars, 

And seek their bread far from their ruined dwellings ! 

May a creditor seize on all that he hath, 

And may a stranger plunder his substance ! 

May there be none to show him compassion 

And none to pity his fatherless children I—" 

we see that we are in the presence of two very different spirits, 
and that one is good and one is bad. Nay, we may turn from 
the bad and cursing spirit to a devout and beautiful song per- 
haps also by David (Ps. cxxxix.), 

" Whither shall I go from thy spirit, 

And whither shall I flee from thy presence? 

If I ascend into heaven thou art there ! 

If I take tbe wings of the morning 

And dwell in the uttermost part of the sea, 

Even there shall'thy hand lead me, 

And thy right hand shall hold me I 

If I say, surely the darkness shall cover me, 

Even the night sball be light about me. 

Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee, 

But the night shineth as the day." 



240 RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

c< The sweet notes of David's prayer," says Theodore Parker, 
'* his mystic hymn of praise, so full of rippling life, his lofty 
psalm which seems to unite the warbling music of the wind, the 
sun's glance and the rush of the lightning; which calls on the 
mountain and the sea and beast and bird and man to join his 
full heart, — all these shall be sweet and elevating; but we shall 
leave his pernicious curse to perish where it fell." 



Here, in conclusion, may I not look briefly at some of the 
great traits of this great Book, our Scriptures ? 

No book in the world is so useful and needful for the study 
of religion; and this study is very great and far-reaching. It 
has been said well that while religious questions change from age 
to age, the question of religion is perennial. In these times, reli- 
gious questions change very fast. They are very different now 
from those tnat filled our minds fifty, or even twenty-five, years 
ago. While yet we are busy with some questions, others 
loom vast and vague on the horizon. Soon they come whirling 
down like storm-clouds greater than any before met, so that 
those already past seem like pleasant gales or easy exercise 
when we are in the thick of the new tempest. But however the 
religious questions vary, coming and going, the question of re- 
ligion is the same, and has been so for many thousands of 
years, while the shifting forms and transient questions have 
risen and fallen. Wherefore joyfully we may think that all 
questions which task us now will pass in like manner, and 
that the storms of thought always will seem but fresh 
and vigorous gales when we look back on them, while the 
power of religion will be the same, to glorify and exercise us. 
The study of religion as a vast fact and interest of mind, a factor 
in all human movements, an inevitable presence in all nations, 
races and times, — this never ceases to charm attention and to 
enforce homage. Now for this study, as I have said, no book 



RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 241 

is such a treasury of help and of knowledge as the Bible. For 
in it we may see, though not the actual beginning of religion, 
which is lost in far antiquity, yet plain traces of the lowest forms 
of religious thought; and these we study in their changes and 
progress to a very high sublimity. For the Bible holds the lofti- 
est and most complete utterance of religion to be found in any 
Scripture. I say not that it is complete, for no one race, however 
rich, could have perfect wholeness in such a mystery of life as 
religion ; but it is the most complete, the richest, most sublime 
reach of religious expression attained by any race or any Scrip- 
tures. 

But to be able intellectually to get this great value from 
the Bible, two powers of mind are needful, first to understand 
it, then to judge it. For if we know not what the Bible is, we 
can not judge it; and if we judge it not, we are not taught from 
it but subjected to it. 

Bemember that the Bible is not our only source of religious 
thought, even though it be the loftiest scripture. From many 
other sources we have gathered a vast store of food for faith and 
feeling in religion, by which we get power. This food has been 
harvested by the large study of Nature as wonderful and holy 
law in all things, binding the great and small, near and far into 
one life, from grain of sand to monstrous sun in the heavens, 
from a little animal which is no more than a drop of jelly to the 
body of a man ; and of history as not a petty or proud play of 
princes or powers, each doing what it will as if there were no 
other, but as a field of human movements where laws act which 
are so strong and vast that they can be seen only when we look 
far back, or over huge masses of people, because they sweep 
such immense groups into their action and span such distances 
of space and time. Now by learning these things we have food 
for religion, which then grows strong in us to interpret the 
Bible wisely and truly, and then to judge it in its facts and in 
its thoughts after we understand it. Surely it is wise and right 
that our religious knowledge, gathered from all sources, should 
explain and judge one source thereof, the Bible. Therefore we 
must use the Bible with this fair and instructed freedom 
whereby to study religion in it. 

Heretofore in this sermon, I have told many things which 



242 RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

the Bible is not, and therewith many things also which it is, 
relating especially to the history and religion of the Hebrews, 
and of the human mind. But now I will look a little at its gen- 
eral traits as the literature of a wonderful people during an 
eventful and tragical history. I can not cast even a glance at that 
history in detail, in the space which I have, and I have said of 
it already all that I can say, perhaps all that is needful in this 
sermon, to show the relation of the Bible and religion. Even 
to look at the Bible merely as literature in this one discourse, I 
must look very swiftly, and seize in passing only the great traits 
of it. 

1. The Bible, which is the literature of Israel, is above 
all things a religious literature- Here we have to take account 
of that wonderful fact in history which we may call race-en- 
dowment, that is, the peculiar quality and character of a peo- 
ple by which it is fitted to make a special contribution to human 
thought or well-being which no other people has given in 
so large measure or in so perfect form. However trite it 
be, let me repeat the main points of this notable fact. If we 
look at our civilization, we may divide its resources into 
three great groups. One group we may call Law, meaning 
thereby all that relates to civil polity, to state- craft, to the joint 
action and organic oneness of great numbers of men who form 
thus a community or commonwealth or nation. For this part 
of our common life, we are indebted mainly to Rome. That 
mighty city created an empire of law and of civil authority which 
the whole world accepts. Another group of the resources of our 
civilization we may call Knowledge, meaning thereby all that 
relates to our understanding of history, of nature, and of our own 
minds; also all that underlies the useful and beautiful indus- 
tries, philosophy, science, mathematics, art. For these things 
we are indebted to Greece. That land of thought, art and 
song, " conquered its conquerors," and imposed its letters, its 
imagination, its beautiful forms, on Rome and on the world. 
It is not a gracious task to compare such bequests with others, 
as with the Roman or with the Hebrhw, to ask which is the 
greater. For they are all so mingled in us in our civilization 
that to withdraw one to look at it by itself, is to mangle all. 
Rather I would say of all these great gifts which unite in one 
heritage, as the ancient preacher said, 



RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 243 

" All the works of the Lord are good, 
And he will give every needful thing in due season. 
So that a man can not say, This is worse than that ; 
For in time they shall all be well approved." 

Tbe third group of resources we may call Religion, mean- 
ing thereby all that pertains to the feeling of dependence on a 
higher Power, to the sentiment of the Infinite and Eternal, to 
the thoughts which bind us to our Origin; to worship, devo- 
tion, awe. Also we must include the rule of conduct and the 
thought of duty. Now for these last elements, the criticism of 
conduct and the idea of duty, we seem not to owe anything to 
one people above another. Everywhere this ethical weight of 
feeling and of thought is met. We find all peoples talking and 
writing of duty, of the laws and reasons of right conduct, in 
nearly the same way and with the same deep earnestness. This 
is a great and glorious fact. But the other heritage which 
we call religion, the awe and feeling of Infinite Majesty, and of 
One Eternal Life, as we find it woven with form and worship in 
our civilization, we owe to the race of Israel. This people had 
no other message to give, no other possession to bequeath. It 
never had any " plastic arts, nor rational science, nor political 
life, nor military organization." But religion with this fiery 
people was a fervor, a life, a devotion, a fanaticism even, if we 
take ii at its worst estate, the like of which the world knows not 
elsewhere. This race observed not, nor asked questions, nor 
reasoned nor doubted. It simply said, "In the beginning God 
created the heavens and the earth," and neither knew nor cared 
to say more. It, above all the great races, starting from the 
same low forms of religion, worshiping stones and divers nat- 
ural objects and many gods, created a grand and devout mono- 
theism, which equally held fast to the whole idea of Deity, — 
living Will, Thought, Love, — and proclaimed that Deity One, 
Infinite and Eternal. By this thought, they have subdued 
the world. " The whole world, if we except India, China, 
Japan and tribes altogether savage, has adopted the religions"* of 
that race of which Israel is the leading people and the fountain 
of their religious influence. "The eternal God is thy refuge and 
underneath us are the everlasting arms;" "My soul thirsteth for 
God, the living God;" " He is the living God, and steadfast for- 

* Jtenan. 



244 RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

ever;" " Hast thou not known? hast thou not heard, that the 
everlasting God, the Lord, the creator of the ends of the earth, 
fainteth not, neither is weary:" " Hear, Israel, the Eternal is 
God! the Eternal is One!" — these are such sayings of its faith 
as Israel uttered in the highest passages of the Bible, which 
are very numerous. By them it has given the world its lan- 
guage of religion. When we utter the hopes, the aspirations, 
the trust, the devotion, the thanksgiving, the dependence, the 
lowliness and the greatness of the soul, we have no forms so 
grand, so simple, so lofty as the prayers and faith-cries of 
Israel. 

2. The Biblical literature has a high and pure moral ele- 
ment in it. But in point of morals, it is a noble fact that we 
may learn of all peoples alike and find the sages of every land 
full of divination on life's daily duties. Yet not all see the 
same points with equal clearness or dwell on them with the same 
force. Sometimes it is said that the ethics of the Bible dwell 
but little and somewhat meanly on the responsibilites and reci- 
procities of family life ; on the humane virtues toward animals 
and children; on the duty of guarding health, of mental culture, 
of public spirit; on the rightful dignity and self-sovereignty of 
women ; on business virtues, prudence, foresight ; and it is true 
that the Bible rather commands than disowns (though with 
glorious exceptional passages) that form of hatred and strife 
called the " odium theologicum," which is dissention, aversion 
and offence for difference in faith. But many of these duties 
we should not expect to find known to a people whose whole 
life was theological and religious, whose whole idea of morals 
would be affected by their stern faith, with no tincture of philos- 
ophy. Herein we must gather from all fields, and bring all the 
peoples to add their portions of insight to the Biblical ethics. 
Herein, also, we must bring our knowledge from all sources to 
the judgment of the Bible, that we may see and say wherein 
its ethics fall short of the needs of many-sided life. For in this 
very carefully we must beware of being subjected to the Book, 
by reason of which subjection indeed, many evils, like slavery, 
persecution, bad-faith, have been excused or approved. But we 
shall find it very clear in the Bible that no outward forms or 
observance of religion can make up for evil deeds, and the best 



EELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 245 

worship is a good and simple heart. " What doth the Lord 
require of thee but to do justly, to love mercy and to walk hum- 
bly with thy God." " Not every man that saith unto me, 
Lord, Lerd, shall enter into the kingdom; but he that doeth 
the will of my Father, who is in heaven." 

" Mark the perfect man and behold the upright ; 
The end of that man is peace. 

" For light is sown for the righteous, 
And gladness for the upright in heart." 

" The stars in the courses uphold the righteous, 
The stones of the field are in league with him." 

" I desire mercy and not sacrifices, 

The knowledge of God more than burnt offerings." 

Also many virtues find high expression, like forgiveness, return- 
ing good for evil, and some forms of justice. For these we may 
read the Bible and find great strength in so reading it, if we 
read it well, not taking every place alike, but seeing the noble 
and high things, and cleaving to them for their own value and 
power. 

3. Beauty, very great beauty, is a trait of the Bible. And 
this beauty is more valuable to us because it is of a peculiar 
kind, the wealth of oriental imagination with which we come 
into no familiar contact except in the Bible — a magnificence of 
imagination, joyous in it splendors. Thus for example a 
prophet sings of the glory kept in waiting for Israel: — 

" O thou afflicted, beaten with the storm, destitute of consolation ! 

Behold I lay thy stones in cement of vermilion, 

And thy foundations with sapphires. 

And I will make thy battlements of rubies, 

And thy gates of carb ancles, 

And all thy borders full of precious stones. 

* . * * 

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, 
Neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. 
For as the heavens are higher than the earth, 
So are my ways higher than your ways 
And my thoughts than your thoughts. 
For as the rain and the snow descend from heaven, 
And return not thither, 

But water the earth, and make it bear and put forth its increase, 
That it may give seed to the sower and bread to the eater, 
So shall my word be that goeth from my mouth ; 
It shall not return to me void. 

But it shall bring to pass that which is my pleasure, 
And it shall accomplish that for which I send it, 
For ye shall go out with joy 
And be led forth with peace. 



246 RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

The mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, 

And all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. 

Instead of the thorn shall grow up the cypress tree, 

And instead of the bramble shall grow up the myrtle tree. 

* * * 

The wolf and the lamb shall feed together 
And the lion shall eat straw like the ox, 
And dust shall be the food of the sepent. 
They shall not hurt, nor destroy, in all my holy mountain, 
Saith the Lord I "* 

Sometimes the simplicity is exquisite — " Consider the lilies 
of the field, how they grow ; they toil not neither do they spin ; 
and yet I say unto you that Solomon in all his glory was not 
arrayed like one of these." I think I may quote for its delicate 
and blossoming beauty, one of the very few songs of love which 
the Biblical literature has preserved: 

" The voice of my beloved I 

Behold, he comes, 

Leaping upon the the mountains, 

Bounding over the hills, 

Like a gazelle is my beloved, 

Or a young hind. 

Behold be stands behind our wall; 

He is looking in at the windows ; 

He glances through the lattice. 

My beloved speaka and says to me, 

Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away ! 

For lo I tht- winter is past, 

The rain is over and gone ; 

The flowers appear on the earth ; 

Ihe time for the singing birds is come, 

And the voice of the turtle is heard in the land ; 

The fig tree is spicing its green fr it 

The vines in blossom give forth fragrance. 

* # * 

My beloved is mine and I am his ; 
He feeds among the lilies. 

When the day breatues and the shadows flee away, 
Come again, my beloved, like a gazelle, or a young hind, 
Upon the craggy mountains. "+ 

4. Tenderness is a trait of the Biblical literature. Wit- 
ness the tenderness that hovers around Jesus, his love for the 
poor, the forlorn and forsaken, the outcast and despised; his love 
for his friends, his lament over Jerusalem, the parables of 
the Prodigal and of the Good Samaritan. In the old Bible, 
also, there is David's lament for Absalom, the devoted friend- 
ship of David and Jonathan, the exquisite pastoral of Kuth, the 
tender story of Joseph, Nathan's compassionate parable of the 
poor man's ewe lamb. There is very tender feeling in these 
and other places, like a soft light through rain drops. 

* Is. lv., lxv. t Canticles. 



RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 247 

5. A trait of the Hebrew literature in the Bible is its 
sublimity. This, indeed, is a trait in which it stands not only 
unequaled but unapproached in all the literature of the world. 
There are no splendors in any language that equal the vast mag- 
nificence and grandeur of places in Isaiah, in the Psalms, and 
in that wonderful poem, unequaled in the world's treasury, the 
book of Job. Coleridge says, " Sublimity is Hebrew by birth." A 
critic has exclaimed what an effect would follow if now suddenly a 
collection of poems like the Psalms were launched anew on the 
world, the like never known before. What wonder, delight, awe 
and praise would arise ! But in truth ' ' the ear is accustomed to 
these admirable productions before the mind can comprehend 
their meaning or feel their beauty," so that it is very hard, in 
mature life, to bring the mind to them with that fresh attention 
which would perceive their power and greatness. The magnifi- 
cence of the imagery, the stern and strong brevity of the expres- 
sion, the solemnity of the thought, combine in a sublimity which 
we can not read without awe. And when we reflect that these 
mighty writings were not the secret or silent work of a few re- 
tired poets waiting for ages to justify their grandeur, but actual 
addresses and appeals to the people, made to move their con- 
science or will to definite ends, what a sight opens before us !* 

6. Another trait of the Bible is the grand characters that 
are in it. Moses, a colossal figure ,in the dim past; Jesus, a wand- 
ering peasant whose glory has moved the world; Paul, Elijah, 
Elisha, Isaiah, Nathan, and, if not on this level, yet mighty, 
Samuel, David, Saul, Deborah, and many more. These are 
great figures, the like of which are found crowded in no other 
literature so small in extent and of one sole people. 

* I have met a story of an obscure Scotch peasant, who, calling on busi- 
ness at a gentleman's house, in Edinburgh, saw a bust of Shakespeare and 
these lines from " The Tempest " inscribed beneath it, 

" The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
Yea, all which it inherits, shall dissolve, 
And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, 
Leave not a rack behind." 

The gentleman seeing the peasant's eyes dwell on these lines, asked him 
whether he had seen the equal of them in sublimity. The peasant answered, 
" Yes I have ; the folio wing passage in the book of Kevelations is much more 
sublime, — "I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face 
the earth and the heavens fled away, and there was found no place for them." 



248 RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

7. Another trait is that these mighty characters are seen in 
rigorous action. They are not described. Seldom are their fea- 
tures of face or form referred to. But they appear as living and 
striving parts of the sad, tumultuous, fecund, tragical, majestic 
history of their race. We see them before us, all human, every 
muscle tense with their action, and their words flying from 
burning lips, like fiery ingots rolling from a Titan's forge. 

8. Another trait in Biblical literature is the prophets. 
This great and remarkable order of men, which has so large a 
part in the history, life and genius of Israel, has no parallel in 
any other people. They came forth and announced themselves 
as direct messengers from God. No one appointed them or 
sanctioned them. Their call was from within, moral and spirit- 
ual. They dwelt as might happen, in solitudes, or in commun- 
ities of their own, or in their ordinary homes; whence they 
went forth preaching, rebuking kings to their faces, threaten- 
ing and terrifying, predicting or enforcing woes on all tyranny, 
and denouncing fiercely whatever was contrary to the faith of 
Israel. Legends and miracles grew up about them. They 
were called soothsayers, and looked on themselves as such. 
They opposed all foreign alliance or union. They were the fire 
at which gathered and burned with a fierce heat the religious 
life and sometimes the religious fury of the race. These men 
were very numerous. They even had schools, or some sort 
of loose training for the office, which has been called " a 
rude germ of a national university," preserving and intensifying 
the religion, tradition and zeal of the people. They had disci- 
pline, wild music and song, and somtimes frenzied ecstasies. 
They were a power in the realm as distinct as the monarchy, 
and sometimes of equal authority. The king must consult 
them on important measures. They were men of action, 
abroad among the people, inciting or stirring them, some- 
times making and leading revolutions against tyrannical 
rulers. They nourished and quickened the nation's proud sense 
of peculiar and chosen dignity. They were benefactors of the 
ignorant, depositaries of the slender science of the times, healers 
of disease by simple remedies. They were the people's authors, 
national historians, orators and poets, and in this capacity the 
source of the world's most sublime lyrical poetry. This order 



RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 249 

of men, as I have said, is a peculiar feature of the Bible and of 
Hebrew history, the most complete expression of the genius 
and glory of Israel, more peculiar to Israel than philosophy or 
art to Greece. It began in zealous ecstasies, which often were 
frenzied, and grew to be a majestic vocation, a great order in 
the state. We can hardly bring our minds to imagine such a 
condition. " Suppose," says Renan, " a solitary dweller in the 
quarries near our capitals, going thence from time to time to 
the palaces of sovereigns, forcing an entrance, and in an im- 
perious tone, announcing to kings the approach of revolutions 
of which he has been the promoter. The bare idea makes us 
smile. Such, nevertheless, was Elijah." If we read the won- 
derful literature in the Bible as we ought, attaining a sympathy 
for it and a knowledge of the mental and moral conditions of 
the times and people, we shall see these great sights pass be- 
fore us, this army of prophets with their burning and fiery deeds 
— a sight astonishing, unique in the history of the world, and 
sublime. 

Thus very swiftly, as by a bird's-eye view from a height, 
I have glanced at the chief traits of the literature which we call 
the Bible. Now the question has been in this sermon of the 
relation of the Bible to religion. Permit me a closing word 
on that point. 

Closely concerned with religion are the three divisions of our 
mental and moral action, Conduct, Thought, and Feeling. Let 
us look at these and the Bible together. 

1. How stands the Bible related to conduct? If we can 
read the Bible well, that is if we can take the things which are 
the true aim of it and not the things which are dropped on the 
way, we shall find the Scriptures great inspiration to herosim, 
nobleness, and faithfulness. But if we must try to combine 
these high things with other things not high, and to treat all 
parts alike, as of equal truth and beauty because in the same 
Book, then we shall be confused and misled. A high standard 
is a great help in conduct. The Bible will give us this if we 
look at the highest in it. But it gives us no standard if we 
take all as of the same worth and try to combine the high and 
low in one. Now, when we consider how much in life depends 
on our picking out the good and leaving the bad in the mingling 



250 RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 

of I them in the things about us, we see that thus we use the Bible 
only as we must use all things, and we shall be helped to judge 
truly and choose nobly in life if in the Scriptures we judge well 
and choose the high things. 

2. How is the Bible related to thought? This is a very 
simple matter. The help of thought is to think. Now thinking 
is arrested if we have a divine revelation in the Bible, perfect, 
miraculous, requiring therefore an entire submission. We have 
then not to think, but only to take without question. Besides, 
more than this, we must take then the poor and the good 
thoughts, the barbarous and the gentle thoughts, as all of the 
same worth, joined equally in one divine command. Thus not 
only is thinking stopped, but all the natural conclusions of 
thought are confounded and set at naught. Therefore, for the 
dignity and justice of thought, we must read the Bible not as 
an issue from heaven with the right to rule over us, but as a 
growth of earth which we have right and duty to question and to 
judge. Whereupon we must judge it and fashion it in with our 
lives, by taking the spirit and aim of its high and grand things, 
to which religion has been growing within its record. So used, 
thought remains free, gathering instruction and light. 

2. How is the Bible related to Feeling ? I have said that 
religion is older than the Bible and that the Scriptures sprang 
from it and not religion from them. This is true, bat it follows 
not thereupon that religion gets no help from the Bible. Like- 
wise love is greater than the home and created the home, in the 
far, misty ages when men began to conceive of the dignity of 
parental cares and to feel their permanence. But also the home 
helps, expands, dignifies, chastens and glorifies love. When 
from animal wandering and chance pairing, the home emerges, 
it will be a rude form indeed; but it will improve the love a lit- 
tle. The improved love next makes a better home, which again 
will refine the love. Thus a sweet and pure tradition grows up, the 
love and the external form of love, which is the home, growing 
rich and beautiful together. So religion is older than the Bible, 
but the Bible helps to magnify and glorify religion if it be used 
well, because the Bible is the expression of the struggle upward 
of the religious nature of man. Herein is a subtle law mani- 
fest which attends all expression. All expression or form reacts 



RELIGION AND THE BIBLE. 251 

on that which is expressed, to heighten, confirm and enlarge it. 
Beautiful expression will help the feeling to become more beaut- 
iful, which again dignifies the expression, which again chastens 
the feeling; and so on, in a pleasing and blessed progress. 
But here is a happy point, to which I pray your attention; 
when the feeling seeks not only to express itself, but to express 
itself in a beautiful way, the expression is always, by a 
blissful law, a little more beautiful than the feeling is at its common 
level. For the expression, and the search for beauty thereby, is 
a great energy of soul, and lifts the whole being for the time. 
And, moreover, the feeling is at its highest reach of strength 
and loveliness when beauty of expression is sought. Then this 
beautiful form reacts on the feeling which produced it to bring 
the common level of that feeling to this height of beauty to 
which it dashed upward in the expression. This new level at- 
tained, a new wave-crest dashes up a farther height, making a 
new expression enshrining the best and most beautiful feeling. 
And so on, as long as feeling can be glorified and expression 
made beautiful They grow lovely by necessity together. There- 
fore the highest, or a very high and noble, expression of feeling, 
beautiful and lofty, is a very precious possession, a delight to 
the present feeling, a continual call for it to come up higher, 
and source of strength for the ascent. Now such expression of 
religious feeling we have in the Bible, if we set our eyes on the 
sublime, beautiful and tender things in it — if we take the high- 
est to be that at which all the lower things are aiming and the 
point to which we should go. Then the grand and lovely 
things in it, the expression most mighty for dignity, grace and 
glory which all the ages yet have found for religion, will attract 
religious feeling continually into its highest regions and bless 
it with new power, sincerity, life and joy. 

Here ends the sermon of the Bible and Beligion. At start- 
ing I looked not for so long a road. But if it lead any one 
higher up in the Bible, that is much. If it lead to the Bible 
and natural religion together, far up the heights of the soul, that 
is much indeed. 



HAPPINESS FROM THOUGHTS. 



"Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honorable, whatso- 
ever things are just, whatsoever things are pure whatsoever things are lovely, 
whatsoever things are of good report, if there be any virtue and if there be any 
praise, think on these things " — Phil, iv , 8. 

" Such as are thy habitual thoughts, such also will be the character of 
thy mind ; for the soul is dyed by the thoughts." 

" Constantly then give to thyself a retreat into thy mind, and renew thy- 
self ; and let thy principles be brief and fundamental, which, as soon as thou 
shalt recur to them, will be sufficient to cleanse the soul completely."— Marcus 
Aurelius, v. 16 and iv. 3. 

In the text from the Apostolic letter to the Philippians we 
must emphasize the word " think." The Greek word means pri- 
marily to reason; hence to ponder, dwell on, take account of. The 
Apostle has been telling the believers in Philippi that they must 
not be given over to outward ceremonies but keep in themselves 
the simplicity of religious faith; and rest themselves, says he, 
on whatsoever is spiritual — truth, uprightness, justice, things 
pure, lovely, of good report, of virtue and praise. These things 
they are to take account of, to consider and to ponder them, 
to reason of them. The virtue of this lies in the power of 
these spiritual reflections to affect the soul, because as Aurelius 
says, the soul is dyed by the thoughts. And the lofty stoic puts 
this truth in the noble way, the entrancing way, saying not that 
the soul is dyed ill by bad and selfish thoughts (which is true, 
but yet were only a look at a deformity as to be avoided) but 
that the soul is cleansed completely by good and generous 
thoughts, " principles brief and fundamental" — which is a heav- 
enly truth, and is a look at a heavenly beauty as to be adored 
and sought. 

This, then, is my subject in this sermon, that the soul is 
dyed by the thoughts ; and I look at the lovely and heavenly side 
of it, that the soul is brought to health, beauty and joy by good 



254 HAPPINESS FBOM THOUGHTS. 

and great thoughts; that high thoughts are "medicines for the 
soul." 

It is in the feelings that we have happiness. Feeling is 
either pleasure or pain, joy or sorrow. But it is thoughts 
which produce the happiness. Thoughts lead forth the feelings, 
either to peace or to strife, to grief or to bliss. This truth I 
will speak of to you under some special points. 

1. It is thoughts that keep feeling in its right direction 
and true relations. Otherwise it runs wild, either to ruin or to 
waste. For feeling is not regulative. It has no law in itself 
but to rush and run, to flow or ebb, like a torrent or tide. This 
is no more than to say that feeling is joy or sorrow, pain or de- 
light, as happens. For only what leaps from the life or heart 
of us with no law or question of restraint, no reflection, no 
doubts or apprehensions, can be raptures or woes. If reflection, 
doubt, consideration, question, go before it, the joy halts 
meantime. It is when the argument, examination, discipline 
ends, and the gate is opened, and feeling is bidden to be gone 
its way freely into the garden, that joy begins. Therefore, as 
feeling has no law but to pour out, thoughts are needful to 
guide it. Principles, which have been chosen by reflection, 
mayhap by painful meditation, must guard the feeling, lest it 
waste itself for naught and unto loss, or lest it riot wantonly, or 
bewitch us, or grow wild and ungoverned. Feeling is an im- 
petus, a motion ; but 'tis thoughts that give the substance. Re- 
flection breeds what then being moved becomes emotion, or 
movement outward and forth; and if it be substance which may 
rush forth freely, whose headway is good for us and for others, 
then the feeling is pure joy in its free course, like a brook whose 
clear material flashes the sun in its unforbidden flow. 

Suppose one loves. 'Tis a matter and concern of thoughts 
whether the love in its rush and free course shall be joy or 
grief, good or evil. If one have reflected what love is and 
what it is to love, if he have good thoughts of love, high, beauti- 
ful and true ideals of it, and a wise understanding of its nature 
by thinking of it and by steadily looking at it in his mind, to 
know it, — it is plain that he will be directed well and guarded 
well in his love by thoughts. His love will be noble. Then he 
will have the pure joy of the current of the swift river of feel- 



HAPPINESS FROM THOUGHTS. 255 

ing, because the freedom and the swift sweep forth are natural, 
clear and shining, from hills of thought. 

Or if one feel hatred — shall it break forth, shall it rush 
freely ? If first one think well what hatred is and what it will 
do if it be set free, his thoughts will have a care over the feel- 
ing and direct it away or change it, so that there occurs no 
forth-going of what, if loosed, would become a torrent of wreck- 
age and woe. 

Thus thoughts give happiness and are medicine of the 
soul by guarding and guiding the feelings whose motion and free 
course make joy or sorrow. 

2. Thoughts make joy for us by their constancy. They 
never fail, nor flag, nor weary us. Emotions must rest. We 
can not endure them without intervals. They must sleep some- 
times. They must pause, they are spent for the time. They 
must wait for a re-awaking, with refreshment. Feelings are to the 
soul like delicate fruits and foods to the body, — source of strength 
and of lovely temperate delights, yet possibly a surfeit too un- 
less they be taken with pauses and rest. But thoughts are like 
the atmosphere which may be breathed every moment with life 
and exhilaration, and even in sleep is to be breathed. A 
thought never loses, nor faints, nor can be a surfeit. We may 
feed of it at any moment, We may recur to it, and it never 
needs to be rested. 'Tis always at its full. Therefore, when 
ecstasies, raptures must rest awhile, being spent for the time, 
thoughts fill with sweetness what else were a blank, a suspense 
or vacancy. Thoughts come, howsoever familiar, always new 
and fresh, and fill us with gentle gales of feelings so soft 
and etherial, down-blowing from the hills of thought, en- 
thusiasms for ideas and hopes for mankind so gentle and so 
wafting, that almost we know not the delicate feelings which 
make our gladness while the imperious and grand emotions 
are taking their rest. Thoughts, high, spiritual thoughts, make 
for us the happiness of knowing that we live, when else in a 
manner we were dead, the great emotions which circle about per- 
sons, causes, interests, nations, being laid awhile to necessary 
slumber. 

3. Thoughts feed the feelings. They give fuel to feeling, 
and substance, — a grand kind of power and value. For feel- 



256 HAPPINESS FROM THOUGHTS. 

ings not only must rest and sleep at times, but they can not feed 
on themselves nor one of them on another. 'Tis a law of feel- 
ing that it must feed on thoughts; else there is no food for 
it, and it withers, starving. But thoughts feed feeling with 
divine substance and bring it to grandeur, fervor and might. For 
feeling follows after things known to be great and glorious, 
pathetic and noble ; but these are to be known only by thoughts 
which both make and manifest things glorious, pathetic and 
grand. Therefore by thoughts, as for example, a principle or 
a reason of virtue, an argument of justice, a conception of love, 
a knowledge of beauty in nature, in poetry, in discourse, a 
vision of what is generous or heroic or religious, a perception of 
order and law, an ideal of social life, or of national glory, or 
of human behavior, — by such thoughts feeling is aroused to 
great exercise and noble fervors. 

Thoughts feed feeling, again, because it is thoughts which 
bring persons before our eyes and carry us near them and tie us 
to them. There is naught in the world which a man can em- 
brace, dwell in and love, without thoughts, but himself. For it 
is thoughts that enshrine others for us — thoughts such as, 
What is a soul? How feels it? How is it moved, influenced, 
rejoiced, grieved, benefited, injured, instructed? What is our 
part and duty and power unto a friend's soul, or a stranger's ? 
What is happiness? What are the means of happiness? What 
part or dignity or virtue of our life is it to be the joy of another's? 
What care, what invention, what regards are needful therein ? 
What is tenderness? What "vigilant variety of tenderness" is 
necessary or valuable ? 'Tis thoughts which answer such ques- 
tions that sustain our love in voyages to other persons and 
in constancy and sojourn with them. Wherefore if a man be 
without such thoughts, if they move him not, if he delight 
not in them, soon he will shrink and shrivel in his feelings to 
the space of what he can love without thoughts, which is only 
himself, and he will become no more than a scrub in the 
mean hovel of himself. 

Thoughts feed feelings, again, in all kinds of love, because 
companionship in thoughts is so blissful. It is very pure and 
very beautiful bliss. It is said sometimes that no loneliness is 
so sad or so deep as that of thoughts which engage us devoutly, 



HAPPINESS FEOM THOUGHTS. 257 

and yet are unshared, unspoken, or spoken to unsympaththetic 
ears. If this be true, the converse is so, that glowing thoughts 
and fervors of thought shared between lovers of all kinds is a great 
bliss, and therefore by such partnership in thoughts, their 
union of heart is deepened, glorified and confirmed. They who 
share thoughts together, and rejoice in high thoughts, with en- 
thusiasm for ideas and delight in the beauty of thoughts, are 
united in things which feed feeling. Therefore their love will 
be constancy and growth. And they take part together in things 
which give grandeur and elevation to feeling. Therefore their 
love will be noble. And all that makes love a constancy and a 
nobleness makes it living and strong in all its qualities. There- 
fore their love will be tender and very joyful. And when the 
great emotions must rest and sleep sometimes, as they must, 
then they who are united by thoughts and delights in the wonder, 
beauty and glory of Law and Presence in nature and in history, 
which are thoughts, exceeding lovely, heavenly and transporting 
thoughts, spiritual and like to God who is in them — they who 
are united in these joys of mind will have always a blest and 
earnest fellowship and fund of life together during the slumber- 
moments of the rapturous emotions. They who are bound to- 
gether only by feelings will not want each other while those 
emotions are sleeping; but they who are tied together in devo- 
tion to high thoughts, will want each other always, because the 
joy of thoughts needs no slumber. I am persuaded that many 
friends and other lovers whose lives ought to be a constancy of 
good affection and of joy therein, tire of each other not by reason 
of fickle hearts, but by lack of thoughts. For common inter- 
ests, the cares or triumphs of getting and keeping, sports, af- 
fectionate pleasures, are not enough to feed and nourish in us 
that great element of love, which, as say the Scriptures, is Div- 
inity, for " God is Love." 

Here I must recur again to what herein before, and often 
at other times, I have said, — never too much said till we learn to 
draw all the happiness from it that can be, — that thoughts give 
joy by adding the powers of reason unto the powers of the 
affections. For love has its laws, and they who know not its 
laws will never come at its joys. But they who are devout unto 
thoughts, prizing and seeking thoughts, and knowing that 



258 HAPPINESS FROM THOUGHTS. 

"thoughts are the medicine of the soul," such thoughts as, 
What truly is love ? What is the real nature of it? What are 
the kinds and degrees of it ? What are the laws of it? What 
are the ideals of love ? What are the essential reciprocities of 
love ? What ought friends to expect of each other ? What are 
the risks, and dangers of affection ? — they who repair to these 
thoughts will know the nature of affection, and add the power of 
reason unto it, and love thoughtfully, which is successfully and joy- 
fully. One thing seems plain, that if love be anything at all 
in human life, it is a very great thing, and worthy of being done 
grandly; and yet it is very difficult. Nay, I think it is the 
greatest human exercise, and the most difficult. 

4 Thoughts lift us wholly and far out of self. " To un- 
loose the spirit and forget ourself in thought," is a good saying, 
— to set free the soul (for thought has no fetters) and inhabit the 
universe like God, who gives us that power in his image; and 
to forget ourself in what we adore, and fly like a bird, " paying 
the double tribute first to sing our part and then obey." Many 
feelings, even the best, most lovely, pure and tender feelings, 
leave us self-conscious in some manner, because they are so fer- 
vent, so yearning, or have anxieties or wishes, or are sorrows, 
or private joys. Thoughts free us, lift us above self, far up; 
and thus thoughts are a means of bringing to pass Jesus' saying 
that we lose our life to find it. For when we lose ourselves 
in a thought, we are entered in unto God. When a man no 
more is confused and sunk in himself, he dwells in God. We 
are exalted infinitely, made sublime, universalized in a thought. 

Thought is a mystery. Thinking is a divine act, if to be 
able to know God hath divinity in it. For to think is to look 
straight at God. To reason of the facts of the earth and heavens 
and of the mind, and array them before us, is to look at God; 
and they that do this purely, that is, with a sincere heart to love 
true thoughts, " shall see God" — so saith the Master. 

A wide thought, a great principle, an abstract conception, 
a law that exists in innumerable objects and kinds of objects, a 
pure idea whose beauty is in its severe truth or in its lustrous 
glory, with no relation to getting anything and no use in mak- 
ing anything, but just a sublime thought, an etherial truth, a 
spiritual idea, — what majesty and power in such, to attract, sub- 



HAPPINESS FROM THOUGHTS. 259 

due, bless us, and lift us to tlieir image, to fill our countenance 
with tlieir light, as Moses' face shone because he had looked on 
God! What sadness never to stand on those serene heights, to 
go up into that atmosphere, where thoughts are like light! 
What sad loss to love no great and pure ideas for themselves, 
thoughts for their own beauty or sublimity, but to call such love 
and exercise a " nourishing in the clouds ;" to care for naught 
but what turns to some account in practice, in affairs or inter- 
ests! What meanness never to be satisfied unless doing some- 
thing, or getting something, bringing something to pass! Can 
we not rest us in the Presence of God by thoughts, and enjoy 
being alive and having knowledge ? Are we not made for that 
spiritual greatness and that delight in thoughts whose beauty is 
in themselves? Is it not these participations with God which 

" Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make 
Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
Of the eternal Silence? " 

To rejoice in beautiful thoughts, though they manufacture 
naught, is to go unto God purely. But to care only to do some- 
thing, to make something, to bring to pass " principalities and 
powers," — this is to follow after God for the results of it; which 
is to seek the results, but not Him. Thoughts are our discover- 
ies of God. If by thoughts we go into the company of God often, 
withdrawing our eyes from the things which are tossing and strug- 
gling that we may see Him in all things under all the war and 
strife, and turning our ears from the uproar that we may hear 
Him and know what he says above all the noise and even in the 
din itself, we shall find a very great happiness. Then we can 
work in the noise without being noisy, and in difficult labors 
with patience and joy. Thought for itself, for the thoughts, for 
sights of God — how vast is this, and how far away from doing 
something for some other end, from counting all thoughts, even 
holy visions, as but means or process- or power to make or 
get something visible! 

A true thought is a piece of eternity. It is as green, as 
blossoming and fruitful to-day as when first it was uttered ages 
ago. It uses men. It turns men to its service — not to make 
anything out of it, but only to preach it, to show that it stays and 
lives in the world, being a sight of God, and to teach men its 



260 HAPPINESS PROM THOUGHTS. 

grace, beauty, adorableness. 'Tis the greatest and most glorious 
men whom a thought quickens to its service. The prophets came 
not to say new things. Where was ever a great prophet who 
had aught new to say, which had not been dreamed of before 
him? Not for this come prophets, but to say the old, eternal 
truths once again; and they follow each other through the 
ages to do that. 

Etherial, beautiful thoughts, which are like the stars that are 
for naught on earth but only to hang on high and fill the skies — 
these thoughts make happiness for us and are «' medicines for 
the soul" because they are the substance of religion; such 
thoughts as, What the Great Name means ; What our nature is ; 
Whence we come; Whither we go; What life is, and the mean- 
ing of life; The place and power of character, in religion; 
What prayer is; Providence, inspiration, the voice within, the 
infiinite Ought, the working of all things together for good, 
wonders and unspeakable spiritual guidances, intimations, fore- 
sights, perceptions, comprehensions within us, the mysterious 
effect of soul on soul, communications of spiritual life, — what 
these are ; What immortal life means ; What hope and faith are ; 
What Infinity and Eternity are; What pain is; What divine 
love is — and justice; What joy and death are — and discipline, 
and moral penalty. These are thoughts which are " medicine 
for the soul," which lift us into awe, quell our turmoil and selfish- 
ness, and bring us to a quiet height of life ; and from the height 
we see " the wide quiet " of God. Thoughts withdraw us into 
their stillnesss, in which, alone, or with one or two, sought for 
love, or met by chance maybe, yet truly gathered in His name, we 
may listen to the silence, or speak so that " Silence is pleased." 
By thoughts we make a quiet within us, and spread it about us ; 
leave the noise, the hurry, the turmoil, the strain and struggle, 
and turn us to think of the glory and pure bliss of the eternal 
things that throng us ; and when we do this with thoughts, the 
heart and soul will follow and we shall know what the love and 
peace of God are like, though they "pass all understanding." 

"All our dignity lies in our thoughts." In what else in- 
deed can dignity consist? Dignity is worthiness, and the worth- 
iness of a thinking being is the elevation of his thoughts. Not 
in position, or power, not in things heaped up, in possessions, 



HAPPINESS FROM THOUGHTS. 261 

in honors, offices, ornaments, gildings, tapestries, feats, or 
any other boasts — not in these lies . any dignity ; but all is in 
our thoughts. He who has large noble thoughts, spiritual and 
unmixed thoughts, which dwell in the upper chambers and tow- 
ers of the rnind, looking out of windows for the heavenly pros- 
pects, for the dome of heaven, the smile of earth — he has all the 
dignity which can exist; for all our worth is in our thoughts. 

Will you tell me, thereupon, that to think is little unless 
action follows, and that he is but a poor fellow whose thoughts 
come not forth in deeds? I answer you that to act nobly and to 
build thoughts into power and expressions is indeed needful, but 
that he who cares for no thoughts except such as can become 
actions or be mide into some visible form, will do no grand 
deeds, nor be noble in small ones. 

The cares of life exact of us, 'tis true. Neither despise I 
them. They have their place in Nature. We are faithful to 
them when we give them their place; but 'tis well to give them 
no more than their place. And what their rightful place is, 
this is one of the thoughts we should meditate. I would not go 
into a cell to meditate, nor retire with contempt from the world. 
That was the old way, men thinking that to know heaven they 
must abhor earth. 'Tis a method not only poor but easy. The 
task is to live with men, not shun them. Wordworth says, 

" 'Tis by comparison an easy task, 

Earth to despise ; but to converse with Heayen, 

This is not easy." 

The depth and meaning of pleasure is to be sounded as 
well as of soberness and sorrow. We have not to despise the 
earth, or things earthly, but to understand them; which is to see 
them in their place. 

To think is life. Thoughts are the very breathings of life. 
To think spiritually, etherially, is to live deeply. 'Tis in thoughts 
that lies the persistence of life, the passion of " personal contin- 
uance." Even pain can not destroy this in souls sane and gen- 
erous. " Sad cure, to be no more," cries the fallen angel in 
Milton, 

" For who would lose, 
Though full of pain, this intellectual being, 
Those thoughts that wander through eternity." 



262 HAPPINESS FKOM THOUGHTS. 

I will offer you some examples of lofty and delicate, etherial 
thoughts, and I will take them all from Marcus Aurelius, whose 
words truly are Scripture, and have heen light and peace to me, 
reading them over and over; and ever when I recur to them 
they seem as full of life as at first, For however I may try to 
live in them, I fall away and forget how great they are, till re- 
turning to them, I refresh myself again in " astonishment and 
power": and exaltation. In the words which I have taken as a text 
from him he says that "the soul is dyed by the thoughts." 
Thefore, continues he, " dye it with a continuous series of such 
thoughts as these; for instance, that where man can live, there 
he can also live well." " I, who have seen the nature of the 
good that it is beautiful and of the bad that it is ugly, can 
not be injured by any one; for no one can fix on me what 
is ugly." This is a constant and beloved thought of Aurelius, 
which continually he is enforcing, that if a man be injured 
he injures himself, for no one can injure him. He says, "Al- 
ways bear in mind what is the nature of the whole, and what is 
thy nature, and how this is related to that, and what kind of a 
part it is of what kind of of a whole ; and that there is no one 
who hinders thee from always doing and saying the things which 
are according to the nature of which thou art a part." " If thou 
keep thy divine part pure, as if thou shouldst be bound to give 
it back immediately, if thou hold to this, expecting nothing, 
fearing nothing, but satisfied with thy present activity, according 
to nature, and with heroic truth in every word and sound which 
thou utterest, thou wilt live happy. And there is no man who 
is able to prevent this." " Let me rest me in these two princi- 
ples ; the one, that nothing will happen to me which is not con- 
formable to the nature of the universe ; the other, that it is in my 
power never to act contrary to God and the voice within me; 
for there is no man that can compel me to do this." "Whatever 
is proper to the spirit no one can impede ; for neither fire, nor 
iron, nor tyrant, nor abuse, touches it in any way." "Let it not 
be in any man's power to say truly of thee that thou art not 
good; but let him be a liar whoever shall think anything of this 
kind about thee; and this is altogether in thy power. For who 
is he that shall hinder thee from being good and simple ?" 

Full of high and pure religious thoughts and beautiful life- 



HAPPINESS FROM THOUGHTS. 263 

lore is this sage, as follows: " Neither wilt thou do anything 
well which pertains to man without at the same time having a 
reference to things divine; nor the contrary." " See how few 
the things are the which if a man lay hold of, he is able to live 
a life which flows in quiet and is like the existence of God." 
" Reverence that which is best in the universe; and this is that 
which makes use of all things. And in like manner also rever- 
ence that which best in thyself; and this is of the same kind as 
that." " When thou wishest to delight thyself, think of the 
virtues of those who live with thee." " Understand that every 
man is worth just so much as the things are worth about which 
he busies himself." "All things are implicated with one an- 
other, and the bond is holy; and there is hardly anything un- 
connected with any other thing." " Let the wrong which is 
done by a man stay there where the wrong was done." (< If 
thou shalt be afraid not because sometime thou must cease to 
live, but if thou shalt fear never to have begun to live according 
to nature, then thou wilt be a man worthy of the universe which 
has produced thee, and thou wilt cease to be a stranger in thy 
native land." " What remains except to enjoy life by joining one 
good thing to another so as not to leave even the smallest inter- 
val between." 

It is thrilling joy to find ourselves at the center of . some 
grand, wide view of life. To partake of a large and general 
thought is as if we had climbed a hill and looked out over an 
immense surface of the earth filled with a great variety of ob- 
jects assembled by sweep of vision into one resplendent picture. 
Such ecstasy as that view is to the eye, is a noble generalization 
to the mind. Thoughts always are a rise from the concrete to 
the general, and lead us to this thrill of reception. I know not 
well how to bring this truth before you, since you are not used 
to the language of the schools, but I will try thus: — When we 
are busy in the crafts and cares of life, immersed in the whirl 
and the din of the day, we are occupied with particular duties or 
interests. This particular thing must be done, that enterprise 
must be planned, this sickness attended, that purchase made, this 
business arranged, that journey provided. 'Tis always with 
details and with individual things that we must be busy. But 
when we retire from tumult, withdrawing from the particular 



264 HAPPINESS FROM THOUGHTS. 

thing that busies us, and begin to think of the nature and 
meanings of all the things together, and of the life that animates 
all of them, then we rise to a high place. We leave the partic- 
ular and ascend to the universal. The individual things among 
which we were plodding on the ground, we now assemble.- We 
look at them as a whole from a high, quiet place. We dis- 
cern a likeness running through many things. We make groups 
of things by the resemblances or common ideas in them. 
Again, we see common thoughts running through many of the 
groups; by which we make groups of groups. Thus moves the 
mind, till we arrive at a grand conception which encircles a mul- 
titude of groups, all displaying common traits or thoughts which 
bring them together in one whole. The mind embraces them in 
this one beatific comprehension, seeing with joy the one thought 
in the many things. These common thoughts or likenesses in 
countless things gathering them into one conception, are thoughts 
of the Eternal One. They are communicted to us by this pro- 
cess of generalization, by which we come near to God through 
group after group, till we arrive where one thought throws its cir- 
cle around all. The thoughts of the Eternal Mind are com- 
municated, we being made like Him. We can not tell the 
nature of the intervention. We know not what matter is. But 
we see therein the thoughts of God. This is unity, fervor, life, — 
community with Him. This is what Emerson meant when he 
said, " Generalization is always a new influx of divinity into 
the mind, and hence the thrill that attends it." When we draw 
away from cares, fears, pleasures, labors, and are still awhile, 
turning the mind to the source of life and of thought, then 
grows an encircling meditation, — idea, hope, faith, — which 
gathers together a multitude of petty or painful facts till they are 
sky-embosomed and glow with one light. We behold all things 
assembled in their places. The molecules of a body, obedient to 
the subtle law of it, fall into their places in mathematical 
angles and planes ; then shoots the exquisite crystal. So do all 
the things of creation, under the thoughts in them, assemble in 
their places, and make then the countenance of God. 

With these thoughts, we are at home anywhere. The 
world, the stars, are home. We may be solitary, as if alone in 
some wide chamber of that wide home ; but we can not be lonely, 



HAPPINESS FP03I THOUGHTS. 265 

as if in a foreign place. And we can be worthy of the solitude. 
If we examine what in solitude we think and feel, we shall 
know much about our spiritual health. For when one is soli- 
tary, having naught but himself, what has he unless he can be 
uplifted by calmness, quiet and thoughts, till he can entertain 
nature, and God will visit him. We all must be alone some- 
times; and one may be kffc quiet alone, sitting 

" On stormy waters in a little boat 

That holds but him and can contain no more." 

Then must the mind feed on its own store. But there is no 
lack if the store be Life, Nature, Providence, high Thoughts, 
assembled by hours withdrawn from noise and tumult when we 
ask questions of our souls. There is also a deep within us where 
we must be solitary, save for Infinite companionship. Who 
of us can reveal himself utterly to the dearest friend ? Who 
can express in words what goes on within him in that depth 
where only One can touch and know him? There where life 
rises where love streams forth from the abyss, we must be 
alone in this universe, save for the presence of God. If we 
know not that he is there, we are forsaken. But by thoughts, 
— for thoughts are sights of God, — we know that we are not 
left alone. We behold ourselves reported everywhere, and all 
the whole converging to us. A sense of oneness therewith, of 
belonging thereto, grows up in us, which is the company of the 
Infinite. 

Thoughts are like human friends — to make a new one is 
rapture, like the finding suddenly an angel come to us; to keep 
the old is life's quiet joy, hallowed love, spiritual comfort. A 
new thought, a fresh apprension, is a rapture; and the higher, 
purer, more spiritual and unmingled the thought is, the greater 
is the rapture. And no wonder it is so; for if, as reverently I 
have said, thoughts are very sights of God, a new thought is 
the sudden beholding of another beauty and glory of God. Now 
also the value, friendliness, comfort and joy of an old thought 
is very great; and the greater by as much as the thought is 
high, spiritual, etherial and loved for itself, with naught to be 
made of it but to live in its light. And no wonder it is so; for 
these thoughts long known are sights of God which time and 



266 HAPPINESS FROM THOUGHTS. 

use have hallowed into experience, communion and, if so I may 
speak, a daily stay of friendliness with Him. A friend has 
brought tome these following words from John Buskin, "Make 
yourself nests of pleasant thoughts. None of us yet know, for 
none of us have been taught in early youth, what fairy palaces 
we may build of beautiful thoughts, proof against all adversity, — 
bright fancies, satisfied memories, noble histories, faithful say- 
ings, treasure-houses of precious and restful thoughts, which 
care can not disturb, nor pain make gloomy, nor poverty take 
away from us — houses built without hands for our souls to 
live in." 

Yes; and to do all acts of life in, even the last act of life. 
Thoughts which are a quiet daily stay of friendliness with God 
(I repeat the expression because I find my soul dwell in it with a 
fear which is not a being afraid, but rather the form of a sufncency 
of joy) — these go with us to the end of this portion of life. They 
are the pillow for our mortal head, being our knowledge of 
things immortal. They lay us softly and unafraid to sleep, be- 
ing our familiarity with things spiritual and eternal. Aurelius says 
it is safe to die if God be living, and it were sad to live if he be 
not; and again, "Be not affected, whether thou art cold or warm, 
if thou be doing thy duty; and whether thou art sleepy or well- 
awakened and rested; and whether ill-spoken of or praised, and 
whether dying or doing something else. For it is one of the 
acts of life, this act by which we die. It is sufficient then in 
this act also to do well what we have in hand." 

I have spoken of thoughts as a great joy unto us and as 
"medicine of the soul," if truly we live in them and breathe them 
in our souls, as the body does the atmosphere. We must beware lest 
we speak thoughts without knowing them, and avow them while 
the soul sounds no deeps in them. For it is possible to move 
among thoughts, and even to utter them, as a fish swims in the 
seas, not knowing what the waters are, nor the skies over them, 
nor the earth under them. Wherefore continually we acknowl- 
edge, speak and sing thoughts which, if only deeply we would 
know them and have their light, would make our lives all one 
joy, one beautiful freedom and health. Why is it not so? Be- 
cause we look on thoughts, but see them not; we avow them, 
but not devoutly take them. 



HAPPINESS FKOM THOUGHTS. 267 

Thus we sing in a hymn, — 

" Be ours the steady will 
To work in silent faith our part, — 
For God is working still." 

If truly we knew that thought in our very souls, and breathed it 
within us, and said daily, knowing it, " My Father worketh hith- 
erto, and I work," could we faint any more? Could we despair? 
Could we falter and sicken because of hopes deferred and the 
long patience of God? Should not we toil cheerily, knowing 
that we have but to do our part, for it is sure that God doeth his 
part? 

Again we sing in a hymn, 

" Let the lowliest task be mine, 
Grateful, so the work be thine." 

If this pure thought we knew truly, and in our souls it lived 
and breathed verily, where were cur poor ambitions? Whither 
were flown our discontents? Where were our complainings under 
lowly duties and hidden domestic services ? Should we moan 
any more to shine, to get glory, to pluck fame? Should not 
we be very simple and devout? Should we not be saying, 
" Come little deed, come little care, come hither and I will take 
thee, little duty. Are ye mine to do, to take, to wear on my 
breast? Yea, for first and now, ye are God's — his work to be 
done by me. Ye are golden, ye are jewels. I will be arrayed in 
you, for His eyes who gave you ; for he giveth naught but what 
is precious to him." 

Again we sing in a hymn, — 

"Heir of all the ages, I, 

Heir of all that they have wrought," 

every golden deed, then* labors and prayers, their passion, 
tears, faith sublime, every hope, all aspirations, 

" Strength to do and to endure ; 

Heir of all the ages, I, 

Lo ! I am no longer poor. " 

Is that truth? Is it no more than a singers sentiment? Is it 
not a seer's verity? If truly that thought were vital breath in 
us, where were our poverty, our cries, or moilings to get more 
and use less? Were not banished our little prides, shows, 



268 HAPPINESS FROM THOUGHTS. 

complacencies and shames? Where were our rich wishes and 
onr mean sense of being always in want? Should we not walk 
like kings ? What had we to do with tables, feasts, hangings, 
soft couches and fine robes? We should eat our daily food, 
were it as simple as earth's grains, with a very rich joy, be- 
cause of our heritage of such riches of humanity of all the 
ages. We should be crying, " Have I not thoughts? All that 
men have done and prayed and loved — is it not mine? Is 
aught lost? Hath it not come down to me? Lord, I am 
very high — I am very full — I am very rich. Never was I poor. 
Now no longer feel I poor, but know my riches!" 



PEBHAPS 



" Perhaps " is a word of much virtue, if we will consider it. 
A good text may be found in many a simple word of common 
speech. A volume of philosophy may be wrapped in one word. 
Words come of human experience, and sometimes they con- 
dense mighty experience into one expressive sound. It might 
take a trooping array and army of words levied in a huge book 
to unfold all the logic, science, poetry, romance, emotion of 
some human encounters and experience which have bred one 
word for themselves as perfect as a pearl in all lights. " Much 
virtue in "If," says Touchstone. I know an eminent preacher 
who once took for his text that one word, " If." And it was a 
text like a jewel, a great brilliancy in a small space. A very 
world of philosophy, and of human life which breeds the sage's 
wisdom, is enfolded in "If." 

" Perhaps" is a word like to " If," and the bone of a big 
limb of human life. As one may handle a flower, or recite a 
verse often and over, before suddenly he sees, delighted, the col- 
ors, shapes and involutions of it, in like manner one day sud- 
denly I perceived the virtue and good piety of " Perhaps " which 
I had been tossing on my tongue my life long. 

One element or essence in the virtue of " Perhaps," as of 
" If," is doubt, uncertainty, hesitation, sense of limitation. If 
a man say "Perhaps," it means, — "I have a horizon. I can 
not get me to any place where I shall be free from that circle. 
However I look, to whatever point, I can see only so far as that 
ring of bright sky. I am limited, fallible. Neither can I do 

*If the reader think, mayhap, that there is more of personal experience 
in this discourse than is seemly, will he remember and consider that it was 
given in the privacy of my own pulpit to my own people, who are like a simple 
and united family in their Religious Home ; and that I let it appear, not all 
willingly, under the shelter of their request to have it as I spoke it. 



270 PERHAPS. 

what I will, nor see as far as I would." In such phrases, if we 
translate it, " Perhaps " discourses to us of our limitations. 
Shall I live another year ? Perhaps. Shall I live this day out? 
Perhaps. Shall I cany this enterprise or that business to a con- 
clusion ? Perhaps. And if so I do, will it be quite well or 
happy for me ? Perhaps. "Will I keep to my resolution, my 
engagement with myself, my undertaking with another? Per- 
haps. Shall I keep my health, my limbs, my senses? Perhaps. 
Shall I keep my faith, my hope, trust, simplicity, love? Per- 
haps. " There is no man who can prevent this," says Aurelius. 
True. Yet I know one man who may deceive me; I mean my- 
self. Shall I myself mislead myself ? Perhaps. 

It is plain that if we be limited so strictly, and neither can do 
always as our will dares, nor can see as our eye longs to see, if 
always we must say, "Perhaps I will do this," or, " Perhaps I 
shall see truly, and understand the matter as really it is," we 
ought to be brought to deliberation in our actions. And indeed 
very often we must come to it, whether we will or not ; as a man 
must limp if he be lame, or grope in the dark. Deliberation 
in action or judgment, a pausing, waiting, looking about us, is 
a taking advantage of the possibilities of things. Now the possible 
varieties of events, the chances of different facts or explanations 
in anything which concerns us, are infinite. Therefore it is 
wisdom and goodness to give these innumerable possibilities 
time to unfold. For we know not how much we may learn or 
how much be aided. "All things work together for good to 
them that love God," says Paul. Yes; but not to them that 
love their own self-will ; nor to them that are too much in haste 
for waiting till all the things work together. For the apostle says 
not that if we fly to them and plunge in them ! as they are at 
any moment, they will surely be good for us; but they work together 
for good, if they be allowed to work. Another text must be taken 
with the saying of Paul, this, that in His sight a thousand years 
are but as a day, yea, no more than yesterday when it is passed. 
Therefore, although all things work together for good to us, if 
they do so in a thousand years, it is not too much for divine 
patience, nor should be for human piety. 

Therefore, as I have said, we ought to stand still very 
often and be not in haste ; yes, stand very still, and take a long 



PEEHAPS. 271 

steady look at whatever things are concerning themselves with us. 
And this is not merely worldly wisdom and prudence, but a ver- 
itable piety. " It is good that a man should both hope and 
quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord." By waiting we give 
all the possibilties free scope, to work together for us, and to 
bring to us the true freight which is stored in them. This is the 
same as to leave our door open for the visit and Providence of 
God. But if we hurry to much, and leave not the possibilities 
to work together for truth and for good, but seize one of them in 
our haste and apply our will to it and deal with it self-sufficiently 
and over-boldly, we are putting ourselves in the place of the 
Power and the Presence of God. 

Therefore, pause we, wait we, saying quietly and religiously, 
" Perhaps." 

To take an example: A man is offended by anything, say, 
a fault (so plainly it seems a fault) of friend, child or servant. 
The ill-seeming deed is suddenly made known to him. He is 
offended; anger rises; suspicions, punishments, retaliations, 
plots, leap to mind. In such a state of his mind, " Perhaps " 
will save him. He can say, and if wise, nay, if his religion be 
a daily piety which will stand him in stead, he will say, " Per- 
haps the ill-looking thing happened thus or thus; or perhaps 
again in this manner; or this other point may be the explana- 
tion, or perhaps there were things not visible on the surface at 
all, but lying deep, which will slowly rise to view." Thus if 
the grieved or angry man will stand still and look about him, to 
the four quarters of the heavens, that he may be ready for ad- 
vantage from the possibilities lying in them, which may arise 
like pleasant gales, — if he will say to the West, i( I salute you 
with ' Perhaps; ' there is no saying what sleep may do;" and to 
the East, " Perhaps; who can tell what may come to light in the 
morning crimson ?" and to the North, " Perhaps ; surely these 
things will settle toward some pole star in the heavens;" and to 
the South, "I greet you with ' Perhaps;' there is no telling 
what fruits the possibilities may bring," — If so the grieved man 
will do and say and look about, he will give " all things" a clear 
room in which to "work together for good" to him. He opens 
himself to Providence Out of all the tangle of " Perhaps," he 
will see presently the right way appear, and the truth will beckon 
him. 



272 PERHAPS. 

Delay may be indolence; in which case the possibilities 
pass by us. But if it be a faithful waiting, it is what gives the 
universe a chance to do the work for us, or first to hew the out- 
line and put it in our hands to finish. There is a common say- 
ing, " Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day," which 
I think is little better than a whip for drones and sluggards. If it 
read, " Never put off till to-morrow what you ought to do to-day," 
that were well. But that is close akin to another reading, 
" Never do to-day what you can put off till to-morrow." This is 
the reading which to the idling and lazy is a " stumbling block," 
but to. the wise and firm is wisdom. For no man righteously 
can put off to another sun what he ought to do under this one. 
But no man wisely, nay, nor even piously, can crowd or pack 
this day with all he can force into it. For this is to deny Prov- 
idence, who belike will show us on the morrow that many 
things were needless, and no more than soul-grinding cares, 
which we could have spared ourselves if we had bethought us 
piously of " Perhaps." We ought to say, " Can this care, this 
fear, this act, be dropped to-day ? Then let us drop it, and be 
still, and open our hearts to the sky that its influence be rained 
on us. Perhaps by to-morrow the care or fear or act will be 
lifted away, either done for us, or needing not to be done, 
by that meeting or council of events in which they ' work 
together for good' to us." Thus " Perhaps" is a word of free- 
dom for us, that the heart be not stuffed with business, nor drip- 
ping with toils, nor fevered with schemes, but have seasons of 
subsidence under the heavens, whereby to reflect the heavens 
and be enlightened. 

" Perhaps" means by haps, by happenings. It is of the same 
force with peradventure and perchance, meaning through or by what 
may occur or befall. Thus "Perhaps" is a word having in it a 
certain assertion or doctrine of Providence, which some persons 
call Special Providence. I care not here to enter into argument 
or discussion of Special Providence; nor do I see, indeed, why 
Providence ever should be called Special, since all is involved in 
the one word Providence. What I care I what be the means of 
Providence, or that my ignorance and poor eyes can not trace 
out the lines of power of the action and care of God ? 'Tis 
naught to me that I know not, nor can discover, how the influ- 



PERHAPS. 273 

ence or thought which holds the planets, seasons, days, in their 
orbits, connects these vast cycles with the egg of an insect, the 
flying of a bird, the business of a man, the love or sport or 
fright of a child. What is plain to me is that there were no 
law, no love, and no Providence in the whole if not in the parts 
of the whole, nor in the parts unless in them it were the same 
in all] manner and essence with the all-mightiness and the all- 
reasonableness and the all-steadiness in the whole, " in which is 
no variableness, neither shadow of turning," When we say "Per- 
haps," we rest on this Providence. " Shall I bring this dear 
object to a conclusion ?" — we cry. Cl So very dear it is — shall I 
bring it to pass? Shall I obtain so great joy or benefit?" If 
we answer quietly and religiously, " Perhaps," we say By happen- 
ings it may be so ; by what befalls, by the events of God, by what 
comes out of the working of all things together, l per haps,' it 
may come to me." Now this means we must hold the haps in 
reverence, and be willing to be guided. If we strive to force 
everything, always to counsel with our own will and wish, not 
listening for a divine command, or " disobedient to the heavenly 
vision," we are not saying " Perhaps," but " By my will and 
pushing it shall be so." But if to some wish and plan, we say 
religiously, " Perhaps," we are attending to what God will utter 
in events. I say not that strong will is not noble and needful. 
'Tis indeed very noble, needful, manly. I say not that a great 
purpose ought not to be spread before us and be kept in view 
daily like a polar star of life. This is often a grandeur in char- 
acter. But I say that these qualities are not safe, but run 
danger of self-will, obstinacy, self-sufficiency, pride arrogance, 
unless they be balanced and well enlightened and humbled relig- 
iously with an obedient, listening, following spirit, worshipfully 
saying, "Perhaps." Emerson says, "The central fact is the 
superhuman intelligence pouring into us from its unknown 
source, to be received with religious awe and defended from any 
admixture of our will. * * * It is fatal to spiritual health 
to lose your admiration. ' Let others wrangle,' said St. August- 
ine, ' I will wonder.' " But when we bring ourselves to events 
with our plans, quietly saying, " Perhaps," we are standing 
in admiration and reverence of the haps of God, the " chain 
of things" which "the next unto the farthest brings," and. we 



274 PERHAPS. 

shall be simple^and obedient, by reason of awe, wonder, worship 
and faith. We must be willing to be guided and to keep our 
minds open for guidance like windows for fresh air. There is a 
guidance, a wonderful and holy spiritual fact, a communication 
within us, which is contrary to too much planning, or to being 
obstinate in our plans, or to trying to reason out all things and 
pushing things to result, and hurrying onward. There is no 
safety for us but often to wait and listen for the inward guid- 
ance and to be able to hear it, 'and obey when it speaks in us. 

This guidance within us, which is like a faculty of vision, 
appeals not to the understanding. It is not contrary to the un- 
derstanding, for naught that is of God can deny reason. But 
the guidance by a marvelous perceiving power in us, aims not 
to be justified by the understanding, any more than sight or 
hearing does. It is simply a command uttered in the instinctive 
or spiritual higher reason, " Choose my way, not thine," united 
with direct power to see His way, by waiting for the inner eye- 
sight to adjust itself and perceive. This faculty, or this divine 
communication, by whatever name you will call it, is like to our 
eyes in its action. If the eye be removed from one light to an- 
other, whether much dimmer or much brighter, it can not see 
well at once, but must wait till it widen or shrink according to 
the light, and must look quietly and long at the objects about it 
before, in that new light, it can see them truly as they are. So 
when the mind comes to a council of many new things, and it 
has to judge of them and choose what is to be done among them, 
or how we are to act in the conditions, it has not the power of 
beholding instantly, nay, not for a long time it may be, but 
must look quietly and steadily at the concourse of things with a 
long and pious patience; and in time we shall see, if only- we 
have such piety and patience that we will not act before we know that 
we see. This is not a feat of conscious argument, reflection, 
statement. The elements of great questions in life, great 
changes, movements, decisions, are so many and so vast in their 
complexity, their ramifyings and combinations, that no process 
of understanding can unravel them and predict what issues shall 
come. Yet, if long enough you wait, and be never wearied out, 
nor driven by threats of men, nor enticed by entreaties of 
friends, nor broken by reproaches, nor overcome by ridicule, but 



PERHAPS. 275 

stand firm, waiting with piety, saying, "As surely as God is my 
guide, I will not move till I see the way like a path of light be- 
fore me," then at last you will see it. Though you can not 
argue it nor troop up reasons to maintain you, you will see the 
right act to be done, and you will know it. Neither " can fire 
melt it out of you," nor will the event ever put to shame that 
light within you, that divine communication, if you have waited 
with piety to the end of the probation. As a fog lifts from the 
sea, and unto all the vessels lying-to in the mist opens a broad 
water-way, and safe paths around each other, so lifts all doubt 
from your mind, and your course is clear, your way is wide. 
However long you shall have waited, and by what degrees soever 
the communication or knowledge hath been writing itself within 
you, the assurance will be sudden at last. You will lie down some 
day to find your patient obscurity as thick as ever it was; you 
will awake in the morning, and lo ! your decision is a part of the 
daylight, so plain and pure it lies before you. It is this wisdom 
and piety which is in the common maxim, " When you know 
not what to do, do nothing." For this is but to say, — When 
you have some momentous choice to make, and all that now you 
can say is, " Perhaps," — perhaps this course will turn out so, 
so, or so, or this other course perhaps will end so, — then you 
must wait and be still, till the haps of God shall have " worked 
together" for you, and no longer you say, " Peradventure this," 
or, "Perchance that," but, " I see! I know! Forward my 
feet! The path is light! " 

In these words I am not speculating or imagining, but 
transcribing my experience. For in grave questions and turning- 
points in my life it has been my experience that never I could 
reason. I could not gather the elements so as to compare them 
and infer from them, They were too many, too far remote, 
the possibilities too tangled, the conditions too complex. I 
could not pierce the future by aught that lay at hand in the pres- 
ent. It would have been easy to wait alone; but if I waited, 
others must wait. " Will you do this? " said they. " Perhaps." 
"If not this, then will you do that ?" "Perhaps. "But will you de- 
cide nothing ?" No, because I see nothing ; I can only say ' Per- 
haps.' I must wait for the haps." So I have waited many 
weeks. One day at last suddenly I knew as plainly what to do 



276 PERHAPS. 

as I knew my own life. Never, when thus I have waited have 
I regretted afterward the decision to which I came, nor the act 
I did — never so much as once. I have regretted many things in 
my life, and suffered by many things ; but they have been the acts 
in which I took matters into my own hands impatiently, and to 
bend things to my will, neglecting the divine intimations which 
commanded me to wait. 

Very often it has happened to me to be commanded imperi- 
ously in choice of sermons. When I go to a strange pulpit for 
a Sunday, how shall I choose? The best, you will say — the best 
I have ? But which is the best ? That which best fits the 
place. But how judge of that? — for I am ignorant of the peo- 
ple. There is no way but to wait till I am led and told. But 
here the leading comes quickly, and always it comes as quickly 
as needful, never too late. Many times I have read over and over 
my list of written discoures, knowing no reason, unless some 
vanity, for choosing one more than another. Soon I am stopped 
at some one sermon, and the Command is sudden and plain, 
" Take this." If I obey, I have a peace which is like an anchor- 
age. But that Command takes no thought of human vanities 
and ignorance. Sometimes I have not liked the choice and 
have wrestled with the Command, even impiously making my 
own choice that I might take something which I judged finer, 
and going to the very door to preach my sermon against the 
Command; when sometimes the Command has grown so great 
and stern that I have gone back and laid aside the dis- 
course which wilfully I had taken, for the one which the Com- 
mand had assigned me. Never did I disobey without failure; 
never did I obey without a happy result. Once (I remember it 
well — I never can forget it) I carried two sermons with me to 
the pulpit. It was at evening. I had given a practical ethical 
sermon in the morning. In the evening I wished to take a 
different kind. It was my desire to shine that night and to 
show what I could do in thought and in fine expression. I had 
great reason, sad and strong reason, for wishing to recommend 
myself brilliantly on that night. I had looked over my sermons, 
and chosen as strong and impressive a discourse of thought as 
I could find, and even had chosen the hymns for it, when sud- 
denly to my dismay, the Command came to me to take the sim- 



PERHAPS. 277 

plest and most common moral sermon of them all — so T thought 
it. I was not willing to obey. What! sacrifice myself by giv- 
ing that piece of commonplace? Unreasonable! But the Com- 
mand? I passed all the long afternoon battling for my own 
way. At evening, still battling, I carried both sermons to the 
pulpit. Until a minute before I arose to preach I still was bat- 
tling. Then while were sounding the strains of the last hymn, 
the Command, above the music, and yet as if of it, seemed to 
become a voice, and yet also a light like a writing, and the 
church was filled with it, saying, Ct My way, not thine." I dared 
refuse no longer. I gave the poor simple discourse of some 
common points in conduct. Was the result good? Did the 
issue justify that relentless Command? — you ask. I know not, 
by any outward measure. An aged man came to me afterward 
saying he would that a thousand persons could have heard the 
words which I thought so common, so thin and simple. And 
the congregation listened as if under a spell, as if the Lord, 
having subdued me, himself did take the people's ear, to 
give them to hear my submission to his Command. Any farther 
I could not follow results. But the best proof was my own ease 
and assurance, my peace and conviction of heart. All the strife 
vanished, all the unwillingness tied the instant I became obedi- 
ent. The very air seemed a mingled light and peace. I was 
very happy in the pulpit that night. 

It is a point of " Perhaps " that it invests us with the dig- 
nity of suspense. It involves the poise of character needed to 
rest quiet in an uncertainty. Not only must we deliberate, but 
often it must be a long waiting while we hang, as it were, in 
mid-sky, painfully, with no support for our feet. " Perhaps " 
signifies our ignorance, as I have said, — our veiled eyes, our 
poor limits of anticipation, the future all invisible to us. Often 
the questions which the future locks from us, are very great 
crises of heart or mind or affairs, wringing us. however we try, 
with anxieties or fears or trembling interests. All these we 
utter with the word " Perhaps." Speak we the word then with 
a stout heart, a steady poise? Are we able to meet that sus- 
pense and bear it, soldier-like, on the march ? I know not 
whether there be a greater test of inward power than a prolongod 
uncertainty. Most persons must rush weakly to a solution. 



278 PERHAPS 

They must be propped by some opinion. They will be glad to 
have the truth if now they can, on the instant. But they can not 
wait for assurance of truth. They must have the support, or 
crutch, as then it is, of some declaration on the moment, some 
opinion which they may lean on. " Perhaps " tries the grain of 
character. If the character endure the test and come forth 
strong to wait, slow to take up declarations, opinions, clamor- 
ous views, .cries of parties or of interests, but steadily waiting 
and looking and brooding for the truth, till light dawn, till the 
very and true morning come, however long the night be — 
then there is great reward given to the spirit. ''Perhaps" 
grows to a victor's wreath at last. Great power, virtue, faith, a 
noble poise of character, a lofty steadiness, come of the disci- 
pline of (t Perhaps." And when the event comes at last, when 
the explanation occurs, the solution is given, the truth hath 
come, then how strong and glorious are all the conditions, 
because all has been endured by us and naught hurried or forced 
anywhere; but what has arrived has come in " the fullness of 
time." When all things are ready, having been " working 
together " unto that result, now they work mightily for joy in the 
result. When " Perhaps " has had its full scope and all now is 
ready, then all the circumstances conspire for beauty and bloom. 
Nature takes up and cherishes what belongs to her, because the 
season of it hath come in the long cycle of the earth's path in 
Providence. 

" Perhaps " has an element of lovely wonder in it. It em- 
braces the future not only as the unknown but as the deep of all 
the possible and the glorious. Perhaps this or that great thing 
will take place hereafter. Small difference how far off the 
space or time. It is present now to the mind's ecstasy in '* Per- 
haps." The infinite power and riches of God seem to lie in a 
holy " Perhaps." Perhaps we shall have a vast knowledge 
sometime. Perhaps we shall take splendid voyages on great 
seas, and magnificent journeys through forests, plains, moun- 
tains, gardens, cities. Perhaps we shall ride to the stars and 
voyage round the solar system. Perhaps we shall meet Socrates, 
Confucius, Paul, Huss, the Nazarene, sometime. Perhaps, 
Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Aeschylus, Newton, Kepler, will be 
accessible to us. 



PERHAPS. 279 

Wonder, triumph, admiration, vast expectation, are essen- 
tial to spiritual health, to a robust fine health. Now, noble ex- 
pectation grows from love of the common. Those souls who re- 
tain the faculty of childhood to be pleased with little things, are 
the spirits most delicate and sensitive to impressions of the 
good, beautiful and true. They are charming characters, full at 
once of wisdom and simplicity; and they enjoy deeply. Often 
I note with pleasure persons who linger habitually to gaze into 
the wide museum of the shop windows, when plainly it is with 
admiration or wonder, not covetousness or envy. I had a friend 
like to a father and brother in one, who so was pleased with lit- 
tle things that it was one continuous pleasure to note his pleas- 
ure. How he would delight in some small mechanical ingenuity, 
turning the article round and round in his hands, spending 
many minutes wrapt in admiration of some common utensil — 
moments, no doubt, of unalloyed felicity. Emerson mentions 
as an attribute or mental quality of a poet his " sharp objective 
eyes." This he says, while speaking of Plutarch, " The range 
of life makes the glad writer," he says, " The reason of Plu- 
tarch's vast popularity is his humanity. A man of society, of 
affairs, upright, practical, a good son, husband, father and 
friend,— he has a taste for common life, and knows the court 
the camp, and the judgment hall, but also the forge, farm, 
kitchen and cellar, and every utensil and use, and with a wise 
man's or a poet's eye. Thought defends him from any degra- 
dation. He does not lose his way, for the attractions are from 
within, not from without. A poet in verse or prose must have 
a sensuous eye, but an intelligent coperception." "Perhaps" 
has in it all this fine love of the common, as the .basis of a 
worshipful wonder, and that again spired with a boundless ex- 
pectancy which is joy and splendor — like Paul's ecstatic cry, "It 
doth not yet appear what we shall be," and " Eye hath not seen, 
nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the 
things " which God hath in keeping. 

" Perhaps " has an element of moral power in it. There 
may be glad haps and grievous haps. We can not see the 
near future. What has it for us on our way? Perhaps joy, 
perhaps sorrow; perhaps successes, honors influence; perhaps 
losses, failures, obscurity, loneliness. How shall we meet this 



280 PEEHAPS. 

" Perhaps " in outward life? By being armed against fortune 
in our inward life. By being soldierly in spirit, as under march- 
ing orders of the Lord to go through this continent of life, and, 
ready for all haps, to endure what thirst, hunger, cold, weari- 
ness, wounds there may be, " for the prize of our high calling," 
for the great service we are in ; meantime refreshed with all new 
sights, lovely scenes, wide prospects on the march, sticking a 
wayside flower in our caps, and feeding on the earth's wild 
fruits or tilled grains lustily. To this high quality of spirit we 
are helped much by rejoicing in little things, with fine wonder 
and love, which then fly like young eagles off to an eyrie of ex- 
pectancy. For small beauties and little charms can not fail us 
anywhere, in the poorest conditions. If we delight in these, 
moreover, and drink all their nectar, we shall not stake our joy 
on building up great things, which, because they are high, any 
quake of fortune will overthrow. Plutarch says, " When Nero 
had made an octagonal tent, a wonderful spectacle for cost and 
beauty, Seneca said to him, ' You have made yourself a poor 
man ; for if you chance to lose this, you can not tell where to 
get such another.' " " Perhaps," making us think of the shift- 
ing winds, waters and sands of fortune, teaches us that the true 
and noble wealth of mind and hand, is, not to depend on keep- 
ing what we have acquired (which with all our watching perad- 
venture we can not do), but to have command in our own souls 
and in the world to continue to do what most we value of 
what we have done. 

Meantime, there is One with whom is no "Perhaps." 
All our deliberation, our piety of waiting, our wonder and 
worship, our hope, expectation, fortitude, uttered in " Per- 
haps," rest on One, Infinite, Eternal, with whom is no " Per- 
haps," " no variableness, neither shadow of turning." Yes, they 
rest on Him. It is rest, peace, stay, strenth. Not only they ob- 
tain and exist by Him, but rest. If we be ignorant, there is 
Knowledge. If in our short range of vision, we must deliberate 
and move slowly, there is Patience which also is Infinite Power 
to bring truth to pass. If we must wait with piety, which is 
faith, there is Eternal Fathfulness which justifies us, bringing 
light and assurance at last. If we must arm us with forti- 
tude to meet strife or pain, there is Infinite Holy Presence and 



PERHAPS. 281 

Love which maketh joy more joyful than pain is painful, and 
showeth us the divinity of loving and of thinking. Whatever be 
our " Perhaps," this is rest. Nay, unless we love our fortunes 
more than excellence and beauty, what matter for haps! and 
how steady may we be among them! since goodness and truth 
stand fast — in Him. 

" It fortifies ray soul to know- 
That, though I perish, Truth is so ; 
That howsoe'er I stray or range, 
Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change. 
I steadier step when I recall 
That, if I slip, Thou doat not fall." 



APPENDIX 

OF APT Eft- THOUGHTS AND HEADINGS. 

Page 24. The following are cogent words id Newman's 
"Apologia." Speaking of "Evangelical Religion or Puritanism," 
the common Protestantism of the sects, Newman says, "We have 
no dread of it at all. We only fear what it may lead to. It 
does not stand on intrenched ground, or make any pretence to a 
position; it does but occupy the space between contending 
powers, Catholic truth and Eationalism. Then indeed will be 
the stern encounter, when two real and living principles, simple, 
entire and consistent, one in the church, the other out of it, at 
length rush upon each other, contending not for names and 
words, or half-views, but for elementary notions and distinctive 
moral characters." It will be noted herein that Newman treats 
all the common Protestant sects as unimportant because they do 
no more than occupy for the present a certain space between the 
real contending powers, pure Eationalism and Catholic au- 
thority. This is the simple truth; at least, I see it so. 
Accordingly I let all the names go and am not busy with any of 
them, not even with the name Christian, which is the name by 
which it is sought to make a solid army of all the names. I 
know only simple natural religion, that is, the devotion and 
thoughts which grow by nature in and with the reason, as against 
supernatural religion, that is, the system which is enveloped 
with church authority and alleged miraculous sanctions. 



Page 25. The following will show how a reasoning Roman 
Catholic deals with reason. In a lecture before an audience of 
all denominations, in St. Louis, Mo., the Catholic Bishop Ryan 
said: "Catholics do not believe that they are bound to submit 
their intellect to the decision of a human institution. They 



284 APPENDIX. 

have first convinced themselves that the Church to which they 
pay allegiance, and by which they are taught the truths of 
revelation, is a divine institution, and that it is an unerring 
messenger from God to them; therefore if they submit to a deci- 
sion of the Church, they submit to a decision of a tribunal which 
their own reason has accepted as an unerring tribunal. If they 
were obliged to receive the decision without having already 
been convinced that the decision came from a tribunal that 
could not err, then they would be slaves; but they have a reason 
for submitting their reason. There is no possibility of slavery 
in this case. There is, on the contrary, a consolation for the 
real dignity of human reason. If there was a church authority 
that was not unerring, and that church authority obliged some to 
submit to its decision, then my reason would be degraded. 
Having come to a certain conviction on a certain point, I will 
never yield that reason that God gave me, except to the decision 
of a tribunal which that reason has already accepted as unerring. 
(Applause.) The man holds the balance in his hand. The 
scale against the doctrine descends, the other ascends. Now 
comes a new reason, which he did not know before when he 
weighed the arguments. A decision has come to him from a 
tribunal which his reason has accepted as unerring. It is a new 
argument which he places into the scale that was lightest 
before. This new argument weighs down that scale; and, 
bowing his head, he says — his intelligence also bowing — 'Credo, 
I receive it: I believe it.' My own reason accepts it; I am no 
slave in this decision. 



Page 27-28. I can not lay too much stress on thought 
as a duty as being the true opposite of authority in religion. To 
cast away an authority without replacing it with dutiful think- 
ing, nay, to cast it away save by the process of slow and solemn 
thinking, is vanity or impiety. There is a kind of liberty, or 
use of liberty, rampant, unreverent, boastful, unloving, which is 
more hateful, it seems to me, than the most meek sufferance of 
bondage. Also the liberty that boasts much of itself and hates 
the authority from which it has come out, is freedom in name, 



APPENDIX. 285 

but in reality is like to have done no better than to have ex- 
changed one bondage for another and a worse. In an article on 
"Authority in Matters of Opinion," Gladstone says nobly (the 
italics are mine): "There is something noble in a jealousy of 
authority, when the intention is to substitute for it a strong 
persistent course of mental labor. Such labor involves sacrifice, 
and sacrifice can .dignify much error. But unhappily the rejec- 
tion of authority is too often a cover for indolence as well as 
wantonness of mind, and the rejection of solid and venerable 
authority is avenged by lapse into the most ignoble servitudes. 
Those who think lightly of the testimony of ages, the tradition 
of their race, which at all events keeps them in communion with 
it, are often found the slaves of Mr. A. or Mr. B., of their news- 
paper or of their club. In a time of much mental movement, men 
are apt to think it must be right with them, 'provided ordy that they move) 
and they are slow to distinguish between progress and running to and fro. 
If it be a glory of the age to have discovered the unsuspected 
width of the sway of law in external nature, let it crown the 
exploit by cultivating a severer study, than is commonly in use, 
of the law weighty beyond all others, the law which fixes, so to 
speak, the equation of the mind of man in the orbit appointed 
for the consummation of his destiny." 



Page 29. Agassiz, I know not on what authority, is said 
to have uttered this pithy apothegm: "Whenever a new and 
startling fact is brought to light in science, people first say, ' It 
is not true,' then, 'It is contrary to religion,' and lastly, 
'Everybody knew it before.' " 



Page 93. Beligion has taken a great step in these latter 
days. Hitherto it has been taught that religion was put into 
man; but now that man has come up into religion. To say the 
same otherwise, religion was said to have come down from above 
to enter into man ; but now it is seen to grow up with man 
from under, and to come out of him. being in his heart, as the 
sight in his eye. Now this is a very great difference, and not 



286 APPENDIX. 

easily measured; for in the old way religion took hold of one 
man at a time and by himself, being put into him and there an 
end. It added something to each one alone, whomsoever it 
entered in. But not being of his nature, nor of all men's 
nature, what had it to do with all men together or with any one 
as towards all? Whence, in this elder religion each man stood 
alone facing the heavens from which the religion came down in- 
to him ; but men stood not locked together or facing each other 
in love; nay, nor any man facing himself, for religion was not 
of himself but somewhat added to him. But by the new way 
of religion by this great change in it, that now it seems to come 
out of a man's heart and not to have to be put into it, religion is 
busy with mankind in three great ways which never it had 
before: First it treats men all together in a great multitude. 
Secondly, it treats one man with another, every man with his 
neighbor. Thirdly, it treats each man alone, facing himself. 
Surely this is very plain without argument, for whatever belongs 
to the nature of man and comes forth from him as he grows, 
must concern men altogether in the whole, and then as related 
one to one, and then as standing each by himself. Now these 
are three very great points and have quite made over the whole 
nature of religion. In other words, the one change in the view 
of religion, that it is a natural growth in the soul and not a 
supernatural element from above, changes religion from 
bondage to freedom, from conflict to fellowship, from formality 
or dogmatism to character and spiritual beauty. 

First, religion busied with all men together can be no less 
a thing than freedom in religion; for if religion gather men and 
treat them all together as in one company, this is the same as to 
treat each equally according to the rights of them all. When all 
have their rights, each bounding each, none overstepping another 
and none more privileged than his fellow, this is freedom in act. 
When each may think for himself, no one nor many nor all 
together restraining any one in his mind, this is freedom of 
thought. And with this goes freedom of speech ; for if every 
one may think, who may make his fellow dumb? But the 
freedom to think needs must be larger freedom than that to act 
or to speak, and indeed has no bounds at all; for these latter 
two are like the right of each man in a company to partake of a 



APPENDIX. 287 

well of water or of a store of food, which all own together, and 
the well or store being begirt and mayhap not large, only a 
small liberty in it may be the share of each man. But freedom 
of thinking is like the right to breathe the atmosphere, which 
each man may draw in by as deep breaths and as much as he 
will, because it is boundless. 

Secondly, if religion be natural to the soul, it unites all 
men; for fellowship follows what is conceived natural as surely 
as love follows close relationships like the parental. If religion 
be simple and natural, it sets every man naturally and reli- 
giously alongside his neighbor, who has the same human 
nature. It is supernaturalism or miraculous claims in religion, 
the view that it is not natural growth in the heart of man but a 
special quality or endowment put into mankind from a super- 
natural source — this it is that causes the wars, persecutions, 
cruelties, which have raged around religion. For claims based 
on a miraculous gift to some men, are intolerant and must be 
so; that is, contrary to fellowship; but participation in what 
grows by nature in all men is favorable to fellowship and causes 
considerate and kind action regarding the different measures or 
forms of it. 

Thirdly, if religion spring out of the heart, it needs must 
concern itself with the state thereof ; for it will thrive or not 
according to what soil it is rooted in. If a plant growing from 
the soil could think and turn itself and amend the soil if 
bad, surely it would do so, and in nothing show more care than 
to look after the earth about its roots. Keligion thus can turn itself 
about; and when it is conceived not as something whole and 
stiff put into the heart to shape it to itself like clay aiound a 
mold, but as growing out of the heart and sucking life therefrom, 
then it will turn carefully to see what kind of soil it has to feed 
on. Wherefore this new religion makes a man face himself; 
which is to say that it brings forward character in religion. 



Page 103. That many persons are better in the deeps of 
them than on the outside they look, having great and sorrowful 
faults, but still a depth of sincere purity, is the very root-hold of 
worship. Now this is a very great thing, indeed; for the old 



288 APPENDIX. 

religion being like some finished thing brought to a man's hand, 
he had done all when he had taken it. Wherefore, what argu- 
ment hindered that a man might be very high in religion while 
very low in his life ? This was beheld plentifully in earlier 
Christian ages; for there were many instances of men, high in 
rank and full of the flush of luxuries and pleasures, who put off 
baptism or religious-profession to their dying hour or till late in 
life, in order that they might have freedom and scope to 
enjoy themselves in sins. Also many very depraved characters 
were punctual in the forms and doctrines of the church, and were 
held religious unto salvation. But the new religion, as now it is 
known, growing up out of a man unfinished, invokes that his 
character agree with it and be a good root-hold, that it may 
flourish. 



Page 160-161. In Reminiscences of Froebel, by Baroness 
Von Marenholz-Bulow, translated by Mrs. Horace Mann," I 
find the following good words about enjoyment; nor can they, as 
I think, be commended too much, nor too much enforced on 
those who have the care of children ; it is sadly overlooked what 
a lovely and mighty means of moral training, yes, and even 
moral discipline, pure joy and wholesome pleasure is: "It is a 
great educational error (which Foebel wishes to combat) to 
deprive childhood and youth of its legitimate joys; for nature 
has planted the need and craving for them in their hearts. As 
bodily development is interrupted and even injured when the 
lawful wants of nature are not satisfied, the soul and its 
natural development are cramped if the craving for joy is not 
met. * * * It is rare that youth who have grown in 
happy childhood rush into any excess of pleasures." The italics 
are mine, but they indicate the author's obvious stress. The 
moral and spiritual value of a childhood and early youth well 
stocked with natural pleasures and made bright and happy, 
passes words. There follows closely on the above quotations, 
the following, which is a true, but perhaps not common, view of 
one moral effect of happiness: "Enjoyment, as a means of unity 
for men, resembles in its highest and finest expansion true 
religion, which binds together in the worship of God all ages, all 



APPENDIX. 289 

the different social ranks and all the different grades of culture. 
Enjoyment delivers from all discension, all enmity, and all 
separation, during the season of the enjoyment." 



Pages 178, 180, 184. The same thought occurs in pp. 258 
to 261. In this connection consider the following thought of 
Froebel (the italics mine), from the "Reminiscences" above 
mentioned: "Froebel looks on the formation of beautiful objects 
as the best means of making the soul susceptible to tlie ideal oh 
every side, and the cultivation of the creative powers he considers 
one of the most important means for overcoming coarseness and 
immorality." 



Page 197. Since the writing and printing of this sermon, 
has appeared W. C. Gannett's admirable discourse on the Bible, 
printed in the Christian Register of July 23 and July 30, 1891. 
This discourse is an excellent instance of Mr. Gannett's peculiar 
lucidness and instructiveness in explanation. A reprint of it in 
pamphlet form has been called for and doubtless will be 
furnished. The discourse begins thus: " In the life of a Bible 
there are three stages. In the first stage it is coming into being 
as a nation's literature. In the second stage it becomes a divine 
revelation or its equivalent. In the third stage it becomes litera- 
ture again, this time part of the world's literature. In the first 
stage it is simply books ; in its second it is the Bible, the sacred 
book, the 'Holy Scripture;' in its third stage it becomes simply 
books again. In its first stage it is known to be the words of 
man ; in its second it is thought to be the very word of God : in 
its third it is recognized again as words of men. The first is 
the age of its writers; the second, the age of its believers and 
worshipers; the third, the age of its critics and truest appre- 
ciators." 

These stages then are treated under the heads " The Old 
Testament coming into being as Hebrew Literature," and after- 
wards "Rising into Holy Scripture," "The New Testament 
coming into being as Christian Literature," and afterwards 



290 APPENDIX. 

" Rising into Holy Scripture," the " Story of the Bible in the 
Stage of Bibliolatry," finally, " The Bible's Return into Litera- 
ture," by means of " Historic Criticism." An admirable and 
characteristic summary of the contents of the Bible Mr. Gannett 
begins thus : "Taking the Old Testament and New together 
now, five successive strata are found in the Bible: (1) an age of 
early fragments, which are only known to us as embedded like 
fossils in the later books; (2) an age of prophetic writing (300 
to 500 b. c), which includes most' of the Old Testament histories 
as well as the prophecies; (3) an age of priestly writing (500 
to 200 b. a), to which we owe most of the national law, as well 
as most of the Psalms; (4) an age of apocalyptic and specu- 
lative writing, from 200 b. c. onward, which has left its vision 
in such books as Daniel, and its wisdom in some of the Apo- 
crypha; and (5) the New Testament of the Gospel and Epistle, 
half-Jewish and half-Greek (50 to 175 a. d.). The order of the 
books as printed in our English Bible is most misleading as a 
guide to dates. The prophets ranging at the end of the Old 
Testament, were written in the main before the so-called books 
of Moses, placed at its beginning ; and in the New Testament the 
chief Epistles antedate the Gospels with which it begins. If 
one asks, What was probably the first thing written, the lowest 
thing in all the Bible strata ? the answer may be, The Ten 
Commandments in some simple form, though under these, of 
course, the early traditions lie. And what is the last, the 
topmost thing, in all the strata? The Second Epistle of Peter, 
as we have seen already. And the space of time from first to 
last is 1,500 years." After this are discussed the different values 
of the Bible as Science, History, Morality, Theology, Comfort, 
Inspiration. 



Page 232. I state this view of the week and the Sabbath 
according to the Dutch scholars in the Bible for Learners. 
Some authorities say that the week has been widely distributed 
over the earth from ancient times, and though not known to the 
early Greeks and Romans, has prevailed among almost all 
eastern nations from time immemorial; though what may be 
meant by " immemorial " is not clear. Sayce (Hibbert Lectures 



APPENDIX. 291 

for 1887, on Religion of Ancient Babylonians) avers that the 
Babylonians had a Sabbath observed ordinarily every seven days 
and similar to the Hebrew Sabbath; but this is not credited by 
Robertson Smith in his article on Sabbath in the Encyc. Brit., 
9th. ed. But however this, Sayce makes not the Babylonian 
week the same as the regular and arbitrary seven-day week of 
the Hebrews, but different, because it depended upon the Lunar 
month. This being approximately 30 days, the week, and with 
it the distance between the Sabbaths, must have varied in some 
manner. The origin and primitive history of the week are very 
obscure. 



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